


The Ocean in a Teacup

by tigerowl



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Civil War, F/F, F/M, Genius Haku, Jashinist Cult, M/M, Ninja Demagogue, Original Characters - Freeform, References to the Ramayana, Seven Shinobi Swordsmen, Some fluff if you squint, Too many ninja under one roof, Uzumaki lineage, Violence, kekkei genkai
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2018-04-28 13:36:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 15
Words: 137,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5092706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigerowl/pseuds/tigerowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing comes cheap during a war, but Zabuza will pay his dues as he trains apprentices and mobilizes the Seven Swordsmen to usurp leadership of the Hidden Mist Village. Students Haku, Suigetsu, and Kimimaro intend to realize their full potential as shinobi and learn to become cutting-edge in a backwards society.</p><p>[Haku sat down at the table with his stack of books and watched as Zabuza mechanically put away the foodstuffs, "Is it true that a shinobi made the moon?"</p><p>Zabuza paused and turned slowly to look at the boy. They locked gazes for a moment before he replied, "I can honestly say I have no idea."</p><p>Haku held open the page he had read that had an illustration to go along with it. The silhouette of a sage was depicted and Haku tapped it with his finger, "This says Rikudō Sennin made the moon. He did it to seal away a great evil."]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Portrait of Momochi

A textbook lay open on the table, battered and coffee-stained from its past users. The text gleamed up in fine black ink:

_Section One: Origins of Ninja Villages_

_Nearly six-hundred years ago, the word "shinobi" was never spoken lightly._

_A person was either a warrior of this title or a commoner,_ _a laborer, a farmer, or a fisherman who spent his days working while listening to wild tales of combating ninja. They lived vicariously through the experience and woes of wandering shinobi, whose clans battled endlessly for superiority. In a way, their detachment from such a grand lifestyle, though humbling, was greatly appreciated by the proletariat. Only shinobi needed to carry swords._

Zabuza smoothed the creased page of the book.

_That is to say, this was an idea that had been long preserved by the drifting clans. So it was quite a shock to many common folk who learned that the famous Senju clan, renowned for their terrible power, had more recently settled along with a number of allied clans to live in harmony._

_Such a thing was unheard of, but after the Senju established their home in a vast forest, christening it Konohagakure (see section five), other nomadic tribes of shinobi found it a vain effort to challenge them. By living in one place and pooling their strength, shinobi dwelling in Konohagakure drove back opposing invaders, crushing and humiliating them._

_Seeing no other way to rival the power of the Leaf Village, shinobi from hundreds of other clans spread out over the land, gathering into their own veiled communities. Newly organized and tempered for battle, ninja were presented with a new issue:_ _providing for themselves._

_Commoners were invited to live in the security of shinobi villages, so long as their services and crops were readily available. The symbiotic relationship between assassin and their guarded civilians was not always equitable among the villages._

_In the Hidden Village of Sand (see section three) for example, shinobi living in the desert relied heavily on the imports from neighboring lands. Not all farmers found the place appealing, but so long as the payment was substantial they contributed to the desert's inhabitants. In contrast to the movement, there was an eclectic congregation of clans who had migrated away from the mainland to a cluster of islands to the east._

_Section Two: Abridged History of Kirigakure_

_These "off-shore" shinobi valued their independence above all other things. Of course civilian aid had become necessary for their blossoming village as well, but shinobi did well to coldly remind them of their inferiority. Life in the Land of Water was unforgiving, and commoners survived with great difficulty alongside the ninja of what came to be called the Hidden Mist Village._

_While ninja settlements in the other five countries invested in the arts and betterment of their village as a whole, Mist was always inclined to dote on its military before other matters. They practiced a type of socialism, or a political system of ownership._

_Being it was a village that hailed from the smallest country, it quickly became the most aggressive of all the shinobi provinces. Bloodshed was not an unusual practice for the first leaders of the Mist Village to gain cooperation from another village. By the Second Mizukage's time, however, Mist seemed to withdraw from inter-village squabbles._

_Clans of the Water Country were rich and greatly respected. The wandering bands that had once been so volatile preferred to stay in their great estates, waiting for provocation to enter a battle rather than seeking one. Some thirty years after the Mist Village's founding, focus was shifted to the economy, which was suffering considerable dips. Isolation that was practiced during this time consequently made Mist ninja unfamiliar with fighting shinobi from outside villages. The reputation of Kirigakure faltered, struggling to balance its military and economic needs…_

Zabuza stopped reading at that point.

It was a foreign text from the mainland; of course the information would be flawed. The Genin from Grass who'd had it with him obviously had not taken Mist ninja seriously in the fight that had resulted in his death.

His pillaged belongings now sat on a cracked pine table in Zabuza's apartment. The Black Ops ace sifted through the items, stewing over the book's misinformation.

It had not even accurately touched upon the Third's achievements. It skipped right over that period, bursting into present-day Mist that was supposedly led by the "cunning Fourth" who had allegedly "begun dramatic trade efforts with other countries."

It was insulting. It made him want to kill the undereducated mainland dolts even more.

If they knew even the first thing about Mist, they would know the biggest issue was civil war, and not the economy. Arguably the two could go hand in hand, but it all fell to who was in power and whoever was in power was never popular.

The Mizukages tended to follow a pattern of management, the first being aggressive, and the successor being a shirker. The First and Third Mizukages had probably been the most assertive and valuable to the village, while the other two had been loud-mouths blowing a lot of hot air.

Zabuza kept some of the weaponry that was in better shape. He shoved the textbook, the souring rations, and the outdated scrolls back into the satchel. He crossed over to the window of the kitchenette, throwing up the shutter, and then tossed the pack outside. It fell two stories down into the street below. Curses drifted up from the road, and Zabuza shut the window ritually.

He was a polluting, conniving, nineteen-year-old who was sick of being in the Black Ops Hunting Division. Sick of it because he'd already had a taste of something better: a squadron of unmatched skill.

It had been nearly a year since the Seven Shinobi Swordsmen of the Mist had been dissolved.

The Third Mizukage had been the visionary who had refined and organized the splinter cell. The faction had consisted of all types, young and old, clan-bred and mixed, wild and composed.

They had all been fixated with bewitched swords, or derivatives of such blades. They answered to the Third without question, accomplishing mind-bending tasks, and prevailed over any and every enemy. They had privileges other shinobi did not. Zabuza had been skilled for his age, but today he agonized over the memories,  _'If I had known then what I know now…I wouldn't be one of the Fourth's goddamn lapdogs.'_

When the Third had died, the Seven simultaneously fell from grace. The new Mizukage did not see a practical use for them with his new reforms in place. Many in the village had been glad the Third perished abruptly. His training methods for Genin were considered cruel, and he had often been called a "child-murderer." Without him, though, the village suffered. The Fourth was foolish and impulsive.

Zabuza took the last of the chicken and rice from the refrigerator. He was losing his appetite just thinking about the Fourth. He took grudging bites from the bowl, aware of how by this time tomorrow he would be on another mission. It was the Fourth Mizukage, Miura Kyonjin, who was actually responsible for the current civil war Mist was embroiled in.

The long and short of it had to do with control. Once in office, the Yondaime had started reforms, modifying the Genin training program to be less…bloody. Ninja were almost always preoccupied on missions, or rather, fighting skirmishes in the countryside.

The goal Kyonjin had pursued relentlessly since the start was the complete unification of the Water Country's clans. They were not all, in fact, allied with Mist, since they usually possessed enough power to protect themselves separately.

Kyonjin's insistence that they unite for one cause (Mist) was overly radical, often offensive to the ancient families. He yearned for the day they would all be under his power, creating one of the most formidable militaries of all the five countries. It had never been done before...and for a reason. What he had overlooked was that once the clans finally did unify (after his molestations) it was not something he could order executively.

In Leaf, clans had joined forces willingly, if not eagerly, after seeing its advantages. The loose connections between clans in Mist were deliberate, due to the fact that they took pride in their independence. The way the Mizukage had so brashly approached the matter had insulted the major clans of the Water Country, and when a compromise could not be reached, turmoil erupted.

War had been declared on Mist, or on Kyonjin, more specifically. Zabuza snorted at the thought of the idiot's political blunder. Unintentionally, the Fourth had succeeded in unifying the clans in the Land of Water, though they were all totally opposed to him.

The classic irony of greed had bowled him over, and still, Kyonjin was fighting the good fight for the sake of his pride. He would not back down or apologize or compensate in any way. He might have regretted disbanding the Seven Swords, by then, but remained silent on the matter. He stood by and watched his shinobi suffer in battles that were pointless. Infighting. All oblivious to the possible threat of outside countries.

Nothing would delight Zabuza more than gutting the spineless fish himself.

* * *

Kyonjin sat at his desk, which had recently been relocated to a higher office in the administrative building. Some filing cabinets still sat empty on the side of the room, waiting to be of use. He balanced a cigarette holder near his mouth with a long-fingered hand, taking a drag now and then while he read another furious threat that had been sent from the Yuki clan. He was forty-nine but he looked sixty. He had smoked all his life, and it was a habit he could not kick, especially during such stressful times.

Deep lines of concentration were etched on his face, and his gray side burns reached down his jaw-line in a dramatic sweep that made his frown look permanent. His skin was ashy and unhealthy looking; eyes dark and swollen from reading the endless documents that demanded his surrender to the clans who despised him. These days he replied to them with self-assured insults, knowing that no amount of sweet-talking would get him on their good sides again. It would not be long, he noted, before he would have to send his Black Ops back out again.

The Mizukage was aware of how it would be an inconvenience to the Hunter unit he was dispatching to the outskirts. Several of his warriors were part of a generation he and his advisors had come to call "The Stains." It was a reference to their bloody childhoods, which were all a direct result of the quarrelling aristocracy of Mist. The Mizukage had found that the altered graduation exam, seven years earlier, had produced few but exceptional shinobi. It was that exam that had many critics.

Most had labeled the Third a heartless tyrant for sanctioning the graduation requirements proposed. After all, more children had died in that era than in any other time in Mist's recorded history. Some blamed the decision on the weakened state of the village. Kyonjin was taking a more modern approach to enhance Mist's forces, compared to the Third. Some still agreed with the old training, but the majority supported the Fourth's reforms. Once the killing requirements of the exam had been revoked, more shinobi had joined the ranks of Mist's military, but none were as effective or respected, Kyonjin conceded, as stained generations.

The Mizukage's stained Hunter-nin, after he had summoned them that afternoon, were clearly in no condition to fight. Three of the eight were still stinking drunk, one suffering from a knee injury not yet healed, two with pressing family duties, and another who must have been under the influence of some tranquilizer. Kyonjin accepted their weakened states in good humor, but the eighth member of the squadron, not in the slightest impaired, had bothered him most of all.

He was the youngest of the group, still a teen, and petulant. Eyes like black steel cut across the room towards him, and the Mizukage was too proud of a man to admit his anxiety.

This was the last child who had made an example of the famed graduation test since it had been revised. Seven years and four ranks later he was a lean, disciplined shinobi, and a supreme example of everything the Mizukage expected of one of his elite. Faultless, did not speak unless spoken to, and a highly effective killer.

Kyonjin leaned back in his desk chair, taking a puff on his cigarette,  _'No…I can hardly stand this one.'_

Personal prejudice did not count. He hardly had a reason to expunge the man beyond sensing his negative aura. The Mizukage noted that  **this**  one was the reason why all Hunter-nin were required to remove their masks in the private council of their village leader.

A standard of protocol had been set, simply because Momochi Zabuza intimidated the Mizukage.

No one was privy to this knowledge, thankfully, because it would have quickly been acted upon. In war time Kyonjin took no risks. The Mizukage had already weathered two failed assassination attempts, and his trust, in his Black Ops guards and his pig-headed diplomats, had dissolved significantly. In fact, he was so desperately concerned with his own well-being that his own village was crumbling around him. Mist was war-torn, starved, thirsty (in the  _Water_ Country,) filthy, demoralized, and riddled with poverty.

Kyonjin's movement for unification throughout the Land of Water had slashed funds that had been going to the larger clans. The clans retaliated with such devastating force the uttering of "Kekkei Genkai" could send crowds scattering.

Mist shinobi had battled exhaustingly, nearly half a year running, against the clan revolutionaries. As far as the Mizukage was concerned, the clans' defeat was imminent. Outnumbered, ill-supplied, and deprived of rights, they would all be erased by the time he was through with them.

That was another reason, he thought: Zabuza did not support the campaign.

"Pointless," Zabuza had called it "wasteful."

The Mizukage did not trust him, even when he had proven to be totally obedient. What had Momochi said?  _'The clans don't_ _ **need**_ _to be unified so long as they contribute to the interests of Mist.'_ Killing was a complete waste of resources, breeding, and bloodline limit.

In one respect, Kyonjin reluctantly agreed with the idea. He had his own  _collection_ of gifted ninja. Loyalists who possessed Kekkei Genkai, who held the Mist Village in higher esteem than their own families. They were useful weapons against their own kind.

No reason to fight fair, the Yondaime thought, which brought him back to why he had assembled the team.

Another raid had erupted in a neighboring village. No one there was actually with a clan, but the people who lived there had been sending complaints. Their town was being sapped of food and supplies, allegedly, by active ninja who were resting there. After many weeks of hateful toleration the villagers had easily chased out the tired Chunin and Jounin with pitch forks and bricks.

' _Unacceptable.'_ The Mizukage thought. Who were they to interfere with the war? Had their self-sufficiency disappeared? To demand aid from a parenting village at such times was unthinkable. Battles were raging, and they deserved no more comfort than that of their combating brethren.

"Kill them all," Kyonjin told the team, "Silence their whining. They aren't worth the meager taxes they generate as it is."

They still looked a bit unsettled, but his Hunter-nin understood the command and agreed to see it done. One of the drunken ninja was adamant in destroying the ineffectual peasants, "We'll stomp them out, Kyonjin-sama, like insects!"

The Mizukage regarded him for a moment and then advised, "Sober up, why don't you? You may go at dusk." With their departure pushed back the Yondaime hoped they could get a grip on themselves.

He dismissed them and the elite team filed out of the office, some replacing their masks and others too stressed to bother. The Mizukage stood, glancing out of the tower window, somewhat dissatisfied with the view. The hair on the back of his neck was on end, and he realized after a moment that he was not alone.

Zabuza had lingered after the others had gone. Kyonjin adjusted his robe before facing him, a tendril of cigarette smoke rising as he exhaled, "Can I help you, Momochi-san?"

"It seemed like you had something more to say, Mizukage-sama." He pointed out, his tone emotionless.

"Oh, it's nothing that concerns you, my friend." Kyonjin chuckled, taking another drag, "Dismissed."

Zabuza left without any further delay, and the Yondaime returned to his spot in front of the window.

On the off chance that the Momochi brat was not a calculating bastard, he was no doubt an obsessed murderer. He would not be able to contribute to society beyond eliminating unfit members from it. Kyonjin had faith his war-dogs would crush the clan opposition, but when they were through, he wondered if they would be tempted to turn and attack their own master.

* * *

Most of the Hunter-nin had just gone back to the bar after the meeting. A few had gone home to check up on their families, and as they disappeared from the street with thoughtless ease, Zabuza had found a perch on top of an industrial building.

The fading summer heat created a disgusting haze that blanketed the lower half of the village. The war had not helped seasonal damages, drought and epidemic included. Rooftops provided an escape from the merciless heat, with the occasional breeze as an added comfort.

Zabuza stared back towards the tower. It was only in the past year he had begun to notice Kyonjin's nervous behavior.  _'He's afraid of me for some reason.'_ He thought to himself,  _'I guess that means he's not a total moron.'_

* * *

By evening they had already reached the outskirts. The Hunter-nin fanned out across the town, and positive cheers from the villagers expecting aid shifted to shrieks of terror.

People scattered as a storm of metal rained down; many dropped lifelessly with knives lodged in their backs. Those that fled were caught quickly, finished by a jab to the neck or the swing of a sword. Many retreated indoors and had their homes ransacked by fire jutsu. It was perfect, glorious chaos and screams grew fewer as the dead piled up in the streets.

Zabuza had come across a young girl in muddied clothes, taking refuge behind her mother's body. For a moment he studied the cowering child. She would die anyway, incapable of surviving without a parent. "Come here." He said roughly.

She shrank back, clinging to her mother's blood-stained yukata. It would be easier just to swipe her with his Seversword, he thought, noting the meter gap between them. Then again, it would be a pointless expenditure of energy. He stepped over her mother, kneeling down, "Come here." He managed to speak more softly.

The girl edged nearer, eyes watery. She stared at the white and red mask obscuring Zabuza's face. "Will you take me away from here?" She asked in a squeak.

"Yes." He said, letting her take her time to creep forward into his waiting arms. She had relaxed. It was better that way. Zabuza snapped the child's neck swiftly, instantly killing her, and laid her down beside her mother. He hated children, because killing them always reminded him of how short a time ago they had been born.

Back out in the square a ring of buildings and huts glowed in the dim evening light. Black Ops ninja strolled in and out of the fire, bringing with them pilfered goods and food.

"Eh, lookee here." A less-than-sober squadron member was covered head to toe in blood. He held up a large porcelain jug for Zabuza to see, "I saved some of the sake. I'll share it with you later, Zabu-kun."

"I wouldn't trust the piss they keep in those urns." He retorted moodily. He could understand that some needed to be drunk to commit such atrocities like the one at hand, but Zabuza preferred a clear mind while he worked.

Silence settled in. People and livestock alike laid pitifully in the streets. The Hunting squadron left after twilight, letting the town smolder away and reduce the defenseless victims to cinders.

* * *

Kyonjin was impressed with their good work and paid them for their trouble. No doubt the funds would be used to pay rent and get drunk.

Zabuza had left with the money in a foul mood. He had changed into normal Jounin attire, all the while disgusted by how his position only warranted him the right to cater to the Mizukage's every whim. The tasks had become so mundane and routine it was nearly a waste of time.

The Black Ops units, at least the way Zabuza viewed it, were only positions for shinobi with considerable power. The teams served as a cage; a constructive outlet for those who had become too strong for the Mizukage to monitor. As if their power was not being squandered enough, Kyonjin was now using the elite force to fight the war for him.

While platoons of Jounin and Chunin fought on the front lines, Hunter-nin attacked the homesteads of each clan; methodically killing and kidnapping unsuspecting family members until the rebellion leaders surrendered. It was a brutally effective strategy, although some clans continued fighting, disregarding the threats.

Zabuza's main quandary was that most of the people he fought against were (or had been) his allies. The Hoshigaki and the Abe families, for example, housed two former teammates from the Seven Swords. He had not yet come across his old friends, but when he did, blood would be inevitable. It could even be his, since he was stuck in the Mizukage's top Black Ops squadron…not necessarily by choice.

He cut through the lower district, wondering if he might find a cheap whore somewhere. His search was interrupted by a familiar face. A young man with silvery-blue hair and violet eyes had skirted the corner to keep out of sight. Zabuza followed half-thinkingly, still unclear about the sneak's identity.  _'Definitely a shinobi.'_ He reasoned. It was hard to miss how the kid had disappeared on the spot.

Zabuza came up from the opposite side of the street, avoiding the crowd, and again spotted the slinking nin. He was at a roadside vender, quickly picking things from a food stand. Zabuza came up beside him, finally remembering him from two years before, "Try not to look so damn conspicuous, Mangetsu."

Mangetsu's eyes skirted over to Zabuza, and he sighed with relief, "Whew…just you, Zabuza. We just needed things to eat since you can't buy a thing outside Mist. I almost got toasted earlier! This place is fucking crawling with mercenaries."

"No more so than usual." Zabuza pointed out.

"Yeah, but they're…they're after us now, aren't they?" Mangetsu lowered his eyes, "They want to kill everyone who's from a clan…my brother's got to stay shut up at home all the time because they'll rip our heads off if we go outside."

"You are going to get hit if you stay here much longer. Not everyone's on duty now, but with the way you try to sneak around like an elephant they'll spot you in a second." The older shinobi smirked, "You should take your groceries and run."

"I'm sick of running. Sick of hiding. This persecution bullshit has got to fucking stop." Mangetsu muttered, "My dad is drowning himself in alcohol, you know. That's why I'm here. If I don't find food he sure as shit won't. He sits around and drinks like a fish." He laughed bitterly at the idea, "A fish…"

"You should leave."

Mangetsu sighed, and then tossed money at the shopkeeper for the foodstuffs. "I…I really don't think I can go on like this. I'm gonna lose my mind if I stay in this fucking country much longer…" He looked sidelong to Zabuza, "Hey, do you think...you know? The gang will be back? If the Swords join up again we can stop this political pissing-match, I know it's-"

"They're not coming back. Half of you have blood limits anyway." Zabuza dismissed the idea, although he himself ached for it, "You'd be wasting your time fighting for the opposite cause."

"Your cause is mine, though." Mangetsu told him, "That's not gonna change."

He took his shopping bag, slung it over his shoulder, and bolted to return home undetected. The next time he was in Mist he would probably be killed on sight. There probably wasn't going to be a next time, come to think of it.

The only saving grace he had was his lack of a Kekkei Genkai. Zabuza returned to his apartment, realizing that he was on the wrong side.

* * *

Yuki Kamisori was a patient man. He prided himself on his level-headedness in battle and life in general. He also felt that he gave off a much-too-approachable vibe to people sometimes. He was handsome, slender, and well-dressed. Obviously clan-bred. These outwardly visible traits attracted trouble.

The sun was setting on the horizon, shimmering shades of fire, and he had thought it to be a very pleasant evening before he'd heard a snide comment from somewhere.

Kamisori had been minding his own business on his way to the club, when an obese, unshaven mechanic wolf-whistled from inside a window. He then called out, addressing Kamisori, "Well look there! A pretty clan-boy on his way to the disco to pick up some girls…or some other pretty boys!" His guffaws trailed after. Kamisori ignored the comments.

The grub added onto his insults, "You're all the same! Pricks from those clans... They should all be ground up into fish-paste, that's what! Won't be long now before Kyonjin-sama sends his dogs after you…lets them rape you and hang your head up on a wall!"

Kamisori had disappeared from the sidewalk. The man had a moment to blink stupidly before a hand fisted around his shirt collar and pulled him bodily out of the window and into the street. Kamisori threw him to the pavement roughly, listening to the thud of meat, and stomped hard on the worm's gut. His mismatched eyes glared sharply at the big-mouth.

"Your opinion of me is…so very high…" Kamisori spat, "Tell me, what do you make of yourself? Think yourself a prince? A gem? You're a scab who freeloads off the system…" He crushed the fat man's gut beneath his boot, hearing the resulting wheeze.

"I d-didn't…I-I " He couldn't respond adequately after spying the kunai spinning in the ninja's palm.

"You don't know me." Kamisori's voice was icy, "As it so happens, I am one of Kyonjin-sama's proponents…he actually likes shinobi with Kekkei Genkai in his service, contrary to your misconceptions."

"P-puh-please…d-don't hurt me…" The grub pleaded, his eyes fixed on the twirling knife.

Kamisori knelt down, hooking the kunai's ring with his finger. "You know, it's people like you who make me sorry I fight this war in the first place." He told the man, "Do you want me to show you what I do to my enemies?"

"N-No!"

"I think I will."

" _N-No, please!"_

Kamisori pressed the kunai against the man's cheek, and rather harmlessly scraped the blade upward. Some of the grub's whiskers floated down to the pavement.

"Good day, cretin." The shinobi told him. He tossed the knife carelessly and it  _thunked_ into the wood of a telephone pole. The grub stared upwards, his eyes unseeing with fear.

Kamisori gave one last stomp on the grub before backing off, and continued down the street without so much as drawing a glance from passers-by. The grub began to sob on the concrete.

* * *

A short while later Kamisori was seated at a bar, his thoughts slightly drowned out by the outrageously loud music. He wished there was a place where he could enjoy a drink in silence, these days. A plain bottle of warm amakuchi sake rested in front of him. He sat with his elbow propped up on the bar, his chin cradled in the palm of his hand. Kamisori brought the porcelain cup up to his lips with a remarkable level of elegance.

The barkeep scuttled around while washing out glasses, muttering to himself. Only one customer tonight. Most others were out on the dance floor, probably searching for a one-night stand. Then in the dim light, out of the shuffle of socializing and stepping, one lone soul parted for the bar.

Kamisori vaguely thought he had seen her in the village once or twice. He sipped his wine appreciatively, not minding the woman who was a seat over from him.

"Some snacks please," She said in a charming voice, "And whiskey."

"Fine, but we only serve Hakushu here."

"I'll have that, thanks."

The bartender turned around to his shelves of endless glass and set to work. The young woman sat with her back straight, eyes focused on the many-colored bottles in front of her. Kamisori looked at the girl, understanding how she wasn't in attendance for social matters. It was pretty easy to spot a kunoichi who had finished a day of hard work.

That was one thing he was very picky about. He did not look too often for women in the bar, because for the most part they were already breathing down the pants of two or three other men. Kunoichi, on the other hand, were a separate commodity. Preferable, in his opinion. They had dignity, and most often, intelligence that most females of Mist were so painfully lacking. The downside was that there were approximately seven remaining kunoichi in all of Kirigakure. Three of which were Jounin, and the rest novices. They were a rare sight indeed.

Kamisori eyed her up and down. It was difficult to tell what she specialized in. She was fair-skinned, with indigo hair framing her face down to her shoulders. Her dark eyes stayed respectfully on the bottles across the way, although he was certain she was considering him as well. She sighed, uncomfortable with the heat of the place, and stripped off her jacket. There was a modest black halter underneath. He was almost disappointed it was not more revealing.

The barkeep returned with a glass and pushed it in front of her. "What kind of snack?" He asked.

"Something salty."

He departed again. The woman touched the glass to her lips and sputtered. For a moment he thought she couldn't hold the drink she had ordered.

"Ugh." She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, "That idiot…why did he heat this up? It's not sake…" He was getting older; she could credit his tiny attention span to that. She gingerly placed her whiskey back down, wondering if she could order another without having to pay for it.

Kamisori watched her fold her arms on the side of the counter. Something about her was decidedly virtuous. Maybe it was the way she comported herself, or the way she tucked loose strands of hair behind her ear. This was a kunoichi, it was clear, who had not had a man in a long time. He chose to be helpful.

The tiniest shock of chakra was all he needed. He frosted her glass for her. "Are you going to drink that?" He asked innocuously.

She raised her eyebrows, and then looked down. She tried the beverage and was surprised. Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully, "Did you just…?"

He said nothing and took another sip of wine.

"Thank you…I didn't realize you were a…" She lowered her voice, "Aren't you worried someone will find you here?"

"I work for the Mizukage."

"Oh! Sorry." She apologized, "I was kind of worried for a second there. That looked like…the Hyoton, or something."

"It is."

"So you really are a-?"

"I'm a loyalist. We serve only the Mist Village." He told her shortly. He sipped his wine, but was fighting a smirk. She was cute. She wasn't prejudiced against clan-shinobi.

"Thank you." She said again, sipping her drink, "It's funny that I don't see you much, since I work directly under Kyonjin-sama too."

"Strange, yes, but you haven't asked me my name yet." He pointed out.

"Oh…well," She smiled faintly, "I'll introduce myself first. My name is Arashino Kuina."

"Yuki Kamisori." He told her. She held out her hand and he was highly amused when he shook it.

"Yuki...that's right." She nodded, recognizing the clan, "I've never met any of them personally…"

"You really don't want to." He assured her, "Nasty, self-righteous people."

"You don't live with them?"

Kamisori looked affronted. Didn't he say he was a loyalist? But some people just couldn't figure it… "No, I don't." He told her.

There was a beat of silence and the barkeep stopped by, setting a bowl of peanuts between them. "Enjoy that." He said, bustling on his way.

Kuina looked down at the peanuts, thoughtful, and then snatched one up. Kamisori watched her crack through the shell deftly with her nails. "You can have some if you want." She offered.

"No, thank you."

Kuina popped the small hearts into her mouth. "I know they don't seem like much, but these little babies are first-rate antioxidant bullets."

He looked at her over his cup of wine, having never heard such a thing.

"They do all sorts of stuff. Prevent heart disease, gallstones, protect against Alzheimer's, slow down weight gain…" She paused, realizing what she'd said, "Not that you have to worry about that!"

For the hell of it he cracked two shells and helped himself. If she made such a fuss about it, he figured it was worth it. It complemented the wine nicely anyway.

Her eidetic knowledge was also unusual, he thought, maybe even for a Mist kunoichi. Kamisori decided he liked it. Her intelligence was refreshing. Maybe he would not get laid tonight.

"Kuina." Her name rolled off his tongue and it sounded like a song. She looked over to him expectantly, picking at the peanuts again.

"You're a medic-nin, aren't you?" He observed.

She didn't want to brag, but she was a lot more than just a medic-nin, "Yes, Jounin-level, that's right. Kind of easy to tell, isn't it?"

She smiled again. Charming as she was, he was getting frustrated. Sex suddenly seemed so much more plausible with this woman than with any of the others inhabiting Kirigakure. It probably wasn't going to happen, though.

"What are you going to do tonight?" It was a very searching question.

Kuina finished the last of her drink, "Work. All I do as work...it's more than I can stand." A somber smile, "This war keeps my salary healthy though, with all the patients that come in."

He finally smiled. She stared at his mouth for a few seconds, sharing a brainwave with him for a moment. His lips must have been the center of the sexual universe, because it took everything she had to stop herself from inviting him home ( _forget_ work!) and doing certain things she had not done in over a year (curse my nonexistent dating-life!)

"W-Well, nice to meet you, Kamisori-san." She stood, folding her jacket over her arm, "I'll see you around sometime."

"Goodnight." He was polite, in spite of the missed opportunity.

Kamisori tipped more sake into his cup. The medic-nin slipped back through the crowd to the exit and disappeared into the muggy night. Suddenly he found his standards had gone up drastically. Kunoichi only: which was altogether seven options. Then Jounin: that left about three. Lastly, a requirement for a medic: that left one.

"Well, this is problematic." He sipped his wine, and then scooped up some more peanuts.


	2. Women, the endangered gender

Kuina reached the hospital at a very slow hour. It was just about 11:00 at night, but her distorted mental clock was reading morning time. The day had just begun. The automatic doors slid apart for her and upon entering, she habitually reached to her left, snatching up a clipboard from a countertop. Names, names, names. Names and maladies. How many needed her today?

A few residents rushed past with a man on a gurney, but she did not raise her eyes. Only after she'd looked over the entire list did she acknowledge her environment.

"First thing's first." She spoke aloud her most favored adage.

Kuina crossed the floor, handing off her clipboard to an intern. Another medic-nin whirled around to face her after writing up surgery times on a whiteboard, anxiety clear on his face. "You're here, Chief!" He greeted her, "We had about four more come in around ten minutes ago…"

"Hello, Guo. Where's Taki?" She kept walking at a brisk pace, down the south corridor. Guo had to dodge parked gurneys to keep up with her.

"He's at home, drunk." He told her miserably.

"Oh good." She smiled darkly, "I'll be sure to refer him for a pay raise."

Guo grimaced at her seething remark. Kuina asked if any of their staff  _were_ on hand currently, and he reported some ten medics, but they were scattered and preoccupied. She stopped at a room, glancing at the numbered panel beside the door.

"Here we go, room 153..." She read the spreadsheet tacked up on the panel, "Nuhikawa Kyomo…Chunin…aged 18...deployed for frontline combat for two weeks, suffers severe trauma to-" A wail of agony shook from the room.

Kuina glanced at her assistant beside her, "Time to get to work."

He sighed, following her in. Nurses already tending to the patient squawked crossly when Kuina looked down at the shuddering, armless Chunin and greeted, "Well hi there, Nuhikawa-san! You sure are bleeding a lot…"

* * *

After a mind-numbing eight hour shift at the hospital Kuina trudged into the Mizukage's office. He had just woken up a short while ago, the lucky bastard. She was desperate for sleep. Somehow she willed herself to smile at the village leader. The bags under her eyes did not suit her.

Kyonjin lit a cigarette from behind his desk, "Good morning, Kuina-chan."

"Good morning, sir." She replied tiredly.

"What's today's report?"

"Well…ten more dead, and at  _least_ two dozen injured many badly. Not nearly as bad as last week, though…" She conceded, "Sir…those front lines are not going to make it. There's someone fighting out there…some  _people_ who can do these  **horrific** things. Injuries that I've  _never_ seen before "

"The Kaguya Clan, intelligence says." He said airily, taking a drag, "Perhaps Yuki also."

She lowered her eyes sadly. She didn't want to know the details, because she'd seen them already.

"Come now, Kuina-chan, buck up. I can't have my Chief Medical Officer going soft on me now." Kyonjin told her, "You have a mission tomorrow."

"Oh? But I wasn't scheduled-"

"A-Rank. You'll be accompanying a hand-picked task force to do some reconnaissance on a gathering rebellion in the western province." He droned on, ignoring her fatigue, "I trust you will keep your comrades in pristine health while out in the field?"

She sighed, "Of course, sir."

He took another drag, observing her gloomy expression, and then added, "Is something troubling you?"

"It's my father, Kyonjin-sama. I was wondering if mail is still traveling south…because I don't believe…he's received my letter yet." Kuina admitted haltingly.

"I assure you it was sent three days ago with the utmost priority." He answered, his head wreathed in smoke.

"I see…thank you." She bowed, taking her leave. She left the office with a seed of worry in her gut, since there had been no reply from her father with the last letter either. He was either too busy to reply or the mail wasn't getting through, thanks to enemy interceptions.

' _Or he's dead somewhere.'_ A taunting voice chimed in from the back of her mind. She squashed the thought, trusting that the war hadn't spread that far south.

The way home was foggy in the early-morning dew. Light had barely stretched over the treetops, and Kuina reached her apartment with dragging feet and sleepy eyes. She unlocked the door and let herself in. She tossed her keys onto a mahogany tabletop, shuffling in and clicking the door shut behind her. She let out a moan of desperate exhaustion.

Last night had been havoc. She'd changed out of her lab coat three times because it had been so caked with blood. Her patients were going to see more of her in red than in white. Sometimes she hated her job, no matter how masterful she was at it.

Kuina blinked drowsily when she crunched something underfoot. She lifted her heel, and observed a peanut shell that was in shards the perfect shape of her sandal. She quickly thought of Kamisori.

She had only gone for a quick drink to settle her nerves before work, but the man she had met still lingered in her head. He'd had a confident and mysterious demeanor, and despite him being reserved there was something undeniably sexual about him. It perturbed her to no end how her odd-hour job prevented her from socializing normally.

Kuina slumped towards the hall closet, fetching a dustpan, and swept up the fragments of shell from the floor. She had liked him, she admitted. He was mysterious and handsome. Of course it was also the first time in a long time she'd had a conversation with a man who had maintained eye contact. It was really annoying when they talked to her boobs.

She removed her shoes before going inside. The upside to her job was the money. She was paid extravagantly, and her wages had afforded her a lovely apartment far more spacious than the majority of residences in Mist. She plucked the withered flowers out of a vase and tossed them in the trash. She'd need to get more sometime. She dumped the water out into the kitchen sink before pressing on, habit reasserting itself.

Ritually she poured milk and oats into a bowl, eyes drooping, and turned on a small countertop radio for background music. An upbeat tune filled the room for a while and she sat, smilingly comfortably while she munched her cereal. Eventually the station went to commercial, reporting on the biggest news there was the war. It was all loyalist propaganda, demonizing clan-bred shinobi, and she snapped the radio off, sickened. She ate beside the window and stared out at the rising sun.

Mist was in the last phase of summer. Soon the weather would turn cold, and the war would take a bad turn once winter arrived. Many would die. Kuina wiped a spot of milk from her lip. Her dearest wish was for the war to end, but if Kyonjin ever heard her say that he'd send her straight to the front lines and be rid of her.

Kuina finished the soggy cereal and then washed the bowl out in the sink. She tried not to think about the war or the Mizukage anymore. She shuffled a few paces down the hall to her bathroom and ran a customary, lukewarm bath. She scrubbed herself thoroughly, though her mind was not on her present task. The sight of her naked flesh had again, somehow, sparked an uncomfortable and involuntary thought of Kamisori.

' _He wasn't even that cute.'_ She thought in her own defense,  _'He looked kind of funny…'_ Which actually meant he was uniquely handsome, in her own cryptic language.  _'Aw crap. He was breathtakingly, worryingly beautiful…and what did I do? I babbled like an idiot. About my_ _ **job.**_ _My smelly, bloody job that keeps me up at crazy hours so I can't date anyone!'_

She splashed a resentful handful of water on her face, a half-hearted punishment, and then climbed out of the tub and dried off. Kuina threw on a pink T-shirt and a pair of panties she'd set aside, and then embarked on the last part of her just-before-bedtime ritual. Back in the under-decorated, seldom-visited living space she procured a sack of seeds from a lamp-table cupboard, and turned to a small cage set atop her work desk. Kuina reached into the cage and topped up the emptying bowl with food. "Dinner…" She croaked tiredly.

Her friends had always told her it was ridiculous to keep a pet when she worked such a hectic schedule. Kuina found she could manage it spectacularly, because outside of the hospital she had no one other than herself to care for. The little creature was good company. He did not talk back and he had a sweet face. He slept all day, like she did, and was only up on his annoyingly squeaky wheel during the night while she was at work. A flawless relationship. It was easy work to clean the cage, and sometimes she wondered if this was the only company she needed- a rodent. It beat the heck out of her old, neurotic, dysfunctional, and long-since dissolved family.

She refilled the water bottle and refitted it to the sidebars of the cage. Kuina glanced out the window one more time, regarding the morning light distantly, and then returned in a haze of exhaustion to her bedroom. She collapsed on top of the sheets (it was too hot to sleep under them anyway,) and closed her eyes. The instant sleep was gratifying, but in her half-awake heart she conceded it was painfully monotonous. She wouldn't mind a small intrusion in her life, no matter how brief or unusual.

* * *

Kuina awoke in the afternoon after a long and dead sleep. Her eyes were crusted over and she fussed at them, also discomforted by her clinging shirt, slightly damp from the summer heat. She sat up with a creak and looked at the digital clock on the bedside stand. A quarter past four. Miserably, she sat up, sticky with perspiration, and crossed over to the air conditioner fitted in the window. She flicked the switch, but knew it would take time for her room to cool down. In her conscious state she was irritable and unprepared for daily activity, so Kuina was, to say the least, peeved when there was a knock at the front door.

With a grumble she toddled in her underwear to answer the door, already quite certain who it was. She shoved a locked bolt, and gave a one-eyed glare to her dear friend who knew much better than to visit in hours containing daylight. The woman held up a six-pack of beer as a peace offering, smiling widely, "Well don't ya look the perfect, grouchy witch, lovey? Gonna let me in?"

"I don't like beer, Nago." Kuina rasped, but took the box from her anyway. "Oh…come in."

Nago strolled in after her shuffling, hunched-over friend, knowing the next question was rhetorical. "How ya feeling, lovey?" She closed the door behind her with a ker-thunk.

"I feel like a grouchy witch. You called it." Kuina replied, rubbing at her eyes.

"Mother of the gods…it's a brick oven in here, innit? You're sweatin' off pounds, I'll bet, love." Nago grinned at her friend, "Ya can afford central air, ya know. What the hell are ya waiting for?"

"The war to end, I suppose. I have more important things to worry about than quality temperature control." Kuina told her. She placed the beer in the refrigerator, wondering if she'd ever get around to drinking it.

As long as she'd known Nago, the woman had always spoken in the slang of the southeast province of the Water Country. Some called the region a hick-town, others were wise enough to see it as a cesspool for bloodline limit breeding. Nago, as it so happened, did not have a Kekkei Genkai, but was no less a product of the area.

Nago was also a jounin, very accomplished in her field of espionage, but not as decorated as Kuina in terms of public service. Nago was also blessed with strength and stamina her friend could only hope to have. "Don't want to try the beer, Kuina? It's the good stuff! Bootleg from the mainland, ya know…" She wanted to drink, but her friend was clearly not in the mood.

"Is it okay if I just sleep?" Kuina asked meekly.

"Sure it is, ya musta had a clusterfuck party at the hospital again, eh?" Nago was laughing, "Any more missing limbs? Gods this war is just a cosmic joke…"

Kuina smiled at her weakly.

Nago added, "Ya know we can't even legally fund it? Kyonjin-sama's supposedly used revenues from-"

"Shh!" Kuina pinched her friend's lips shut, "Do you want to get assassinated? Don't talk about that shit! Someone might be-!"

"Listening? Oh like I believe that steaming load!" Nago hollered, "Who's gonna git me, huh? The Black Ops? They worship the air I float on!"

Kuina laughed in spite of her paranoia.

"Anyway, lovey, I'm gonna split so ya can rest your little witch head." Her friend said, heading for the door, "And for flip's sake, loaf off sometime, ya hear me? Call me when ya wanna stretch your grouchy legs."

"It won't be anytime soon, unfortunately. I have a mission tomorrow." At Nago's cross stare Kuina added, "B-But I'll…yeah. I'll let you know."

"Now that's a good Medical Officer…" Nago purred, and vanished from the apartment.

Kuina was glad after her friend had departed. By then her room had cooled down slightly, and she crawled into her bed, drifting to sleep, knowing her alarm would wake her for her next assignment.

* * *

At the very first electronic buzz she slammed down on the clock, silencing it. Kuina got up mechanically and began a very different routine. She migrated to the kitchen and ate whatever was in sight a nectarine, a leftover slice of chocolate cake, and a few mouthfuls of mild curry which was foolish and left a bad aftertaste in her mouth. The energy would certainly help, though. She brushed her teeth three times afterward.

Kuina had distinctive dress for hospital work comfort clothes and a light jacket, mostly. For missions, however, she spared no expense. She slipped on an armored breastplate that had several quivers for throwing spines and other nasty projectiles. Her armguards were lightweight but sturdy, and even her knee-high boots sported some added protection. She packed what few supplies she absolutely needed, intending to go light, and left the rest up to her knowledge and skills.

She set out in the dawn light, skimming across rooftops towards the designated rendezvous point. It was a short walk just outside of the village, but when she arrived she could see she was the last one there. Three men were already hovering impatiently in the bramble. Kuina quickly assessed the group.

She knew two of them from past experience. Hayago and Oun, both jounin she'd worked with before, although Hayago was a better friend than she'd count Oun. The third man was a newbie, as far as she could tell. He was young with shifty eyes and stringy hair pulled back in an ashy braid. She thought about asking his name, but being polite was not really necessary in Mist, and she figured she'd learn it sooner or later.

Hayago, as the veteran of the team, assumed leadership and ordered them to move out. Kuina could see he was not looking so well. He'd cut his hair off again. It was a choppy black mess, and he might have been attractive if his face hadn't been crossed with scars. His eyes were an unusual shade of orange. Something about him always reminded her of her father, even though he bared no resemblance at all. As they set out west the newbie began to chat.

His name was Rama, and he'd been promoted to jounin rank a month earlier for his excellence on the battlefield. Hayago could personally vouch for him, but Oun, the slinky redhead of the group, with an impressive summer tan, seemed a bit disgruntled by the youth. He sensed a sore of inexperience in the new jounin and could not overlook it. Kuina chose not to comment.

After an hour or so of traveling the sun had climbed up slightly in the sky. They stopped in a dimly lit valley that was a half mile from the coast. When Kuina closed her eyes she could hear the ocean's waves rushing in against the sound of chirping crickets.

Oun used a jutsu that quickly detected enemy chakra signatures, and inclined his head towards a ridge. "That's the area, alright." He told his team, "I don't feel a lot of activity, though."

Hayago led the way up the fern-tangled slope, staying low, and at the top peered down upon the shinobi congregation. They were clearly not with Mist, Kuina knew. She'd seen the type before. Oun used his jutsu again to get a more accurate reading. "There's around…thirty of them." He cursed quietly under his breath, "And they're all Kaguya. They've even got the kids with them, isn't that nice?"

The Kaguya clan were notorious for taking their children into battle. It was a practice that had severe repercussions, and underestimated advantages. Few children were so remarkably educated in warfare.

Rama spoke up in a hushed voice, "These are the ones responsible for destroying Mist's northern outpost. You know, two weeks back? Mizukage-sama nearly blew his top…"

"He expected too much of a squadron of only twelve. They were massacred." Hayago said shortly, "We cannot engage until we return with reinforcements. We need to confirm that they're here for respite, and not intending an ambush."

They spied for nearly an hour on people who were only  _sleeping._ Rama had gotten in alarmingly close, but had still remained unnoticed. He returned with a report on overall health, a better headcount, and an estimation of their supplies. Kuina didn't want to say she was bored, but she sure was thinking it. She'd never actually  _seen_ a Kaguya, she had only ever heard about them. So far they were lacking the reputation that so often preceded them.

They retreated slowly back down the ridge, and as they trekked back through the endless sea of maple trees, Rama shared some of his trail mix. Kuina thanked him for his generosity, surprised when she had picked a peanut from the bag. While she mused about her selection, Oun had, in contrast, scooped a handful of whatever he could get and palmed it into his mouth.

"You're not the kind of guy to discriminate, huh?" Rama was amused.

"No, but Kuina here hasn't even started." Oun pointed out.

The medic frowned, "I find this very symbolic, is all, so please don't judge me."

"I won't even ask." Oun said.

Hayago held out his arm suddenly, halting them. It was a bit of a shock to see a woman crossing the path ahead of them. She froze when she noticed them, holding a green-eyed stare before raising her hand to her mouth. Kuina watched in astonishment as bones prodded out from the skin of her hand in a mass, and the woman blew into the hollowed disk, emitting a piercing screech.

Rama leapt too late- the whistle had gotten out, and the whole of the Kaguya clan began to stir in the valley. He slashed at her aggressively with a kodachi, which she countered by extending bone claws from the metacarpals in her hands. Kuina could hardly believe her eyes. Rama had managed to connect a hit with the woman's forehead, stunning her, and they bolted from the scene as the woman screamed and screamed…

"For fuck's sake! You couldn't sense that bitch before?" Rama snarled sidelong to his teammate, "Now those freaks are gonna be after us!"

"She must've been off taking a piss in the woods! How was I supposed to know where she was?" Oun snapped back.

"The both of you better shut up!" Hayago warned, and they did. They scaled another slope, cutting through an orchard, and followed the team leader across a river that was slightly off their original course. Hayago produced several water clones from the stream that doubled back into the forest, which could serve as a distraction for their pursuers.

"I…don't see how this…is helping us escape." Kuina panted after the team had stopped on a craggy hilltop, "Shouldn't we just stand our ground?"

"You've obviously never fought a Kaguya before…" Oun sighed, "They're difficult to outrun, and downright near impossible to hurt. This isn't the fight we want to pick."

Hayago pointed to a dam several yards off. "We can flood the ravine by tearing down that levee." He said steadily, "They are not gifted with water talents, unlike most shinobi of this country."

Rama went ahead while the others stayed back. He set a few explosives around the embankment at critical points. Hayago called him back when the first of the Kaguya began to appear. The bombs detonated, shredding the concrete, and the levee cascaded down on the shinobi who were just crossing the river.

The first line of rebels had been washed away, and it stunned Kuina to see that they hadn't been quick enough to avoid it. The good fortune was too good to last, though. A few other Kaguya had found their footing on the water's surface and rushed for the high ground the Mist ninja were stationed at. Hayago ordered an attack.

Rama and Oun assisted the team leader with using high-level water jutsu, bombarding the incoming ninja with what was left in the reservoir. Kuina only knew three or four techniques that manipulated water, but she contributed anyway with a slightly less savage assault. The Kaguya had been buffered again, and this time it granted the Mist ninja another opportunity to flee.

Hayago sped off, with the rest of his team falling back in turn. They crossed back over the crag and into a denser forest that obscured the top of the valley. Kuina would've thought they were in the clear, but a straggler had caught them. They stopped and faced the rebel, confident that he was outnumbered.

What was most strange was that this one could not have been more than eight years old. Unwisely, they had let their guards down. The child was wide-eyed and tense, but Kuina suspected that the look in his eyes was not of fear, but of computation. She held back a small gasp when the small boy charged. He was frighteningly quick.

He produced a bone knife from his forearm and lunged for Hayago. The team leader stepped back, and caught the boy by his wrist, intending to throw him aside. Hayago let go of him suddenly with a cry. While he reeled Kuina could see the Kaguya boy had a sharp ridge of bones protruding from the spot where he'd been touched. After Hayago had recoiled from the porcupine defense the boy sprang again, seizing the opportunity, and plunged the knife into the Mist ninja's chest.

The team balked, astonished by the feat, but the attack had been buffered by Hayago's flak vest. Hayago wrenched the boy off and kicked him brutally, sending his small form crumpling to the ground. Kuina swiftly looked over her leader's wound, "It's small…he didn't hit anything vital but he probably meant to…"

Her stomach twisted with horror to see Rama and Oun had gone ahead to retaliate. The boy struggled to his feet but Rama backhanded him in the face, cursing at him, and the boy stumbled again, dizzied. Oun was about to deliver some justice as well, but Kuina called out breathlessly for him to stop. "No! Are you crazy? He's just a child! This isn't _his_ war!" She reminded him. Oun backed off grudgingly.

They retreated again, Hayago slightly winded from his wound. Two more Kaguya had showed up during that period of time, though. They hadn't gone very far before they saw the two rebels shouting at the boy, berating him for having not killed anyone. They could've cared less about the injuries the boy had sustained.

"Sick motherfuckers…" Oun growled.

Bone projectiles rained down near the team without warning and the Mist ninja scattered. Rama and Oun let out grunts of pain, and after turning around Kuina could see they'd been hit in the back with the fragments. Before she could assess how bad it was, one of the quicker rebels had caught up to them.

Oun, despite being injured, threw himself in front of his team. He drew the sword at his back and clashed viciously with the Kaguya ninja, screaming at him, desperate for victory. More projectiles pelted ahead from the surrounding forest, making it difficult to tell where the enemy was lingering. Kuina had pulled Hayago to the ground in order to spare him from being shot. Rama was also taking evasive precautions, but Oun continued to fight.

He'd stabbed the Kaguya in his side, but somehow the hit was ineffective. Bone plating beneath the skin had halted the attack. The rebel whirled around and plunged twin bone daggers into his opponent, and Oun jerked, dropping his weapon. Once the bone bullets had ceased the Mist team was immediately up again. Hayago rushed ahead, and while the Kaguya's blades were still stuck in Oun's chest, he gouged the rebel's eyes out with his gauntlet.

The enemy Kaguya staggered off, wailing, and Rama hurriedly pulled Oun onto his back before the team bolted once again. This time they were not followed. Kuina counted it nothing short of a miracle.

The rush back to the Mist Village was a practiced race through the fog. In the blur of movement Kuina looked back to Oun, helpless on Rama's back, and could tell from experience that he was mortally wounded. He was drifting in and out of consciousness as Rama demanded that he stay awake. Kuina knew she could not fully help with the deep wounds Oun had sustained until they were at the hospital,  _'I could use the Threading Method and use some of his own hair to close up the gashes…I might need Guo to help me, though…'_

Rama eventually stopped anyway and pleaded with Kuina to do something. "Just shut him up, will you? He keeps going on and on about his little son and it's driving me nuts…" He said, his voice betraying empathy.

Kuina kneeled beside the shuddering man, her hands aglow with peridot light, and set to work. She sealed up the two major punctures beneath his ribcage, but was disturbed to find bone fragments broken off in the wounds. She'd seen this type of damage before with incoming patients, and she hadn't been able to save all of them. "We need to get back to the village now, because sitting here isn't doing him any good." Kuina announced, "Take him, Rama."

She handed Oun back to the new jounin and they moved on. Somehow they were back in Mist within minutes, although Kuina suspected her perception of time was terribly skewed. They sped through the hills, the streets, and it was still early enough so that only a few laborers and shinobi were about. The sun had peeked out from behind thick clouds and illuminated the city briefly.

Kuina could hardly trust her eyes when she caught a glimpse of, of all people, Kamisori on the side of the road. His expression was slightly bemused. Certainly she couldn't stay and chat, so she dashed on with her team, passing the man by without a word (to him at least.)

The hospital was not busy at all, and when Kuina made her dramatic, filthy entrance she needn't say anything in order to get the interns to crowd around her. Rama handed Oun off to one of the doctors but he was already dead. Hayago swore loudly. Kuina heaved a very disturbed sigh and plopped down onto a rolling chair by the front desk. Tears threatened her eyes for a good ten seconds before she thought better of it, acknowledging the realities of her profession, and she stood up again.

She led Rama and Hayago into an examination room to tend to their wounds, while Oun's body was taken down the hallway for an autopsy.

* * *

Once her teammates were discharged, Kuina, in a very depressed state, went to the Administrative building to report the damage. She'd been in the bathroom for ten minutes scrubbing the dirt from her face and the blood from her hands. It had even gotten under her fingernails, which became a nightmare to clean. Her clothes were a little worse for the wear, but it was as presentable as she was going to get.

To her wonder, as she entered the ground floor of the complex, a young chunin stopped to thank her. He happened to be one of the patients she had helped a week earlier, and she nodded off his gratitude humbly. When they parted she began the trek up the spiral walk of the building.

She wondered how Oun's wife and son would take the news of his death. She felt partially responsible for it, and she hoped that Hayago would inform them of the situation delicately. Kuina rubbed her neck, hating how she was so tense and sick with worry.

When she reached the top floor Kuina halted, amazed by her timing yet again. Approaching from down the hallway, most likely just out of the Mizukage's office, was Kamisori again. The second time she'd seen him in a span of three hours, and she'd hardly ever seen him in her many years of living in Mist. He was like a mirage, and a very lovely one at that.

Her mood quickly improved as she drank his appearance in. His downy white hair stood up in tufts, snow-like, and his skin like untouched ivory. His eyes were very interesting- mismatched blue eyes, one light and one dark, and she briefly wondered if he suffered from cataracts. Since that wasn't a good conversation starter she hurriedly looked for another feature to comment on.

' _Crap all over again! What do I say?'_ She couldn't think of anything appropriate:  _You look very dashing in that fancy-pants regalia you've got on…what the hell do you_ _ **do**_ _at clubs anyway? …I thought about you in my bathtub…_

"Peanut Medic Kuina." Thank goodness he spoke first, "You were in a hurry earlier."

Whew. That was a nice save. It could've ended in flames and questions about bathtubs.

"Yes, I was, but…unfortunately there was no way to save our teammate." She told him, and then smoothly added, "How are you, Kamisori-san?"

"Busy." He said, continuing on his way, "I'll see you around."

He was gone just like that, and Kuina would've fumed if not for the fact that she was kind of grateful he had left before she had said something stupid. He had that effect on people.  _'But that was genuinely frustrating, right there. I wanted to ask him out for a drink and he had to be all mysterious…'_ She pouted as she walked.  _'Tch. Whatever. You're just cute. That's all you have going for you!'_

She knocked once before entering Kyonjin's office. He looked to be in a very good mood,  _'Probably just took out another Rebel leader?'_ and greeted her warmly. Kuina reported on their findings, though he already seemed aware of the Kaguya's strategies, and regretfully explained Oun's demise. He took the news in stride.

"He was a brave man, and his family will be compensated." Now  _that_ was what she wanted to hear, "I'll be sending a response force to drive those brutes out in a few hours. Thank you for your good work, Kuina."

She bowed respectfully before leaving. There was no sign of Kamisori anywhere as she exited the tower, and on her way home she stopped for takeout.  _'The prices are really getting out of hand…'_ If this economic trend kept up her superior salary wouldn't help her stay afloat. Kuina returned to her apartment, weary as she often was, and set the bag down on the kitchen table.

She changed out of her clothes and bathed quickly. Her stomach was protesting its emptiness. Kuina threw on light top and shorts before settling down to eat. She sat on the couch, and after taking one bite of her dumpling became distracted. The wheel in the cage was turning with curious speed. "You want to visit, Ham?" She asked. Kuina fetched the little fuzzball from his cage and sat down again. She let him scurry up and down her legs while she sat and ate contentedly. Occasionally she'd feed him a grain of rice, but he wasn't too interested in it.

Kuina finished her meal in silence, and carried Ham in her shirt pocket back to the kitchen. She left her bowl in the sink, and turned to the refrigerator, noting how thirsty she was. She stole a peek inside but there was only beer. Her stomach turned at the thought of imbibing. She closed the refrigerator and placed Ham back in his cage, deciding it would be best to get more sleep.

She turned on the air conditioning in her bedroom, sick of the stagnant heat, and spread out on top of her bed. Kuina knew she couldn't keep avoiding Nago and her frivolity forever, especially with the case of beer that had been planted in her apartment as a reminder. ' _Sure was thoughtful of her…'_  Tired and careworn, Kuina rolled over and slid her palm beneath her cheek, welcoming sleep.

* * *

Later in the evening she woke again, feeling sticky but slightly rested. Kuina lay staring up the ceiling for a long while, wondering for a brief, petulant moment why her life was so repetitive. She was honestly sick with herself, ' _Did I really become a shinobi just to be bored out of my mind?'_ She rolled out of bed with a creak and decided to get dressed.

Nago wouldn't appreciate it if she was stood up. She hadn't been previously, and Kuina knew that her friend was only looking out for her so that she wouldn't become a hermit with sixty cats in her apartment one day. She set out on the street in the dim light, glad the temperature had dropped, and silently prayed in her head that something good would come of her going back to the bar.

Kuina slinked into the shady establishment, grateful that the music wasn't quite blaring yet, and could see familiar faces on each wall enjoying some sort of drink. For a delusional, hair-splitting moment the kunoichi glanced around for Kamisori. There were a few people at the bar but she did not see him. Looking around, she realized, there was no one present who even remotely resembled him.  _'At least he's easy to spot…'_ But no, the handsome, furtive man was nowhere in sight and she nearly regretted coming at all until Nago beckoned her over to the dance floor.

"There ya are, lovey, it's about time. I was afraid you were comatose!" Her friend teased, "See? It's not so hard to git out and have a little fun, is it?"

"I suppose. Nice…shirt(?), Nago." Kuina paused, looking over her friend again disapprovingly, "Did you lose your clothes or something, I wonder? These days it's as if you chose to wear almost nothing."

Whatever it was: tunic, dress, whathaveyou, it was not covering much of her friend and Kuina suspected that was the point. Nago did a twirl in her barely-there outfit that was not necessary.

"Barer is better, lovey." Nago purred. Kuina rolled her eyes.

Her friend was gorgeous to say the least, and plainly sensual, but despite it all men hated her. This was for one simple reason beside Nago stood her girlfriend, Sashayma, a doe-eyed beauty who was also seriously lacking clothing. If asked, men from all around the village who knew Nago would label her a complete waste, since she chose to swing the "wrong way."

Kuina was well-adjusted to her friend's alternative lifestyle, and if anything, commended her for it.  _'Who wants a man from here anyway? They're hopeless!'_ But in her heart Kuina felt that there was still the slimmest chance for happiness her's anyway. Nago had already found the person she wanted to spend her life with.

While the two women jabbered on and on, coaxing Kuina to dance, the medic couldn't help but let her mind wander elsewhere. Maybe another mission wouldn't hurt. Perhaps her father had finally answered her letter and invited her to come visit. Anywhere but here, she thought  _anywhere!_

"Would you care for a drink, Kui-chan? They're serving this new tangerine martini and it's quite tasty." Sashayma offered sweetly.

"No thanks. Maybe later…"

Nago, having heard a report on Kuina's most recent mission, commented on it, "Goddamn Kaguya…I'm sorry ya had to go through all that, lovey. Just be glad it didn't go worse."

The medic-nin shook her head, "I think I'm over it now anyway, Nago."

Her friend quirked an eyebrow, "That so? Cause to me it still looks like something's up with you…"

Kuina shrugged it off, not bothering to answer. Nago would not understand her little infatuation with Kamisori, being that she personally hated men. No one would blame her, but Kuina had accepted the fact that she had no one to talk to about it.

They danced for a long while, letting loose, drowned in the lights and rhythmic bass. Men came and went, sometimes taking interest but were often driven off. Kuina found she was nearly repulsed by them as much as Nago was. Then again, she conceded, anyone who came to a place like this could only be seeking explicit things.

One man who had always been particularly persistent with Nago had appeared. Kuina recognized him from a previous conversation: a Black Ops captain named Iori who was a genuine scumbag she seldom socialized with. Suddenly their previous suitors seemed tolerable.

He exchanged words with Nago that Kuina could not hear over the pulsing music. Iori bent his stubbled chin towards Nago's ear and whispered something. The woman was promptly infuriated and shoved him roughly with her elbow, indignant.

"Come on now, Nago, we all know you're just keeping up a charade." He retorted harshly, "That girl of yours can't satisfy you the way a man could, I mean, just look at her! What could you expect from a slinky thing like that?" Sashayma lowered her eyes in humiliation.

"You're  _out of line_ , Iori!" Kuina's tone was venomous as she took a step in front of Sashayma.

His glare was tangible, "Oh, I'm sorry Chief! Did you suddenly discover you hate dicks too-?"

Nago's fist met his jaw with a harrowing  _crack._ Iori's head snapped to the side and he reeled, blind-sided, and people on the dance floor quickly scattered to avoid getting hit. Iori pivoted, trying to catch Nago in a heel-drop but she was too quick, and ducked back with Sashayma clamped tightly in her arms. Another drunken punch came flying from the Hunter-nin captain but Kuina caught his wrist and diverted the strike, and he tumbled off in the wrong direction. Before he could retaliate further in intoxicated outrage, the proprietor had descended, screaming in a frenzy about his establishment's policies.

They were thrown out of the club straightaway, but thankfully it meant they didn't have to deal with Iori's alcohol-fueled rage. Kuina walked with her friends beneath the streetlights, slightly thrilled that she'd finally had her first bar-brawl. Nago spoke words of comfort to Sashayma until the girl perked up a little.

"Sorry about dragging ya into that scrap, Kuina-chan." Nago said at length, and then smiled to herself, "We probably won't be allowed back there, come to think of it…"

Kuina shook her head, "I don't mind. He wasn't there anyway…" She trailed off, realizing she had slipped.

Nago was intrigued, " _He?_ A new man in your life, Kuina?"

"He must be a gentleman, then." Sashayma assumed.

"I wish." Kuina laughed, "Those were all out of stock, last I checked."

They parted on a street corner after saying goodnight, and Kuina took to the rooftops for the remainder of her walk home. Mist's streets were not safe at night for only one person, shinobi or not, but the high ground always held an advantage. She descended again after reaching her apartment building, unlocked the door to her flat, and let herself in, glad to be home. Even though it had been an essentially unpleasant evening, Kuina could not help but be in a good mood, inexplicably.

The air conditioner had been set on a timer and, upon her entry, the place had already cooled down considerably. She gave a heartfelt sigh, peeling off clothing as she went, stepping out of her heels, and hopped around routinely. After redressing in light pajamas Kuina found she did not have much of an appetite. She sliced a few wedges from a mango in a fruit bowl, and ate them simply for the sake of eating.

Her rodent companion was awake and going for a world-record on most squeaks on a wheel in a minute. Kuina took a seat near the cage and watched the hamster run frantically, and even in his most noble effort, get nowhere. Seeing the creature reminded her too much of her own life. She was running, working, risking her life constantly but for what, exactly?

She slipped a piece of mango between the bars of the cage. The hamster paused in his epic race and crossed the pine bedding to the treat that had been left for him. He sat staring up at Kuina with beady eyes as he nibbled interestedly on the fruit.

"That's it, take a break, Ham." Kuina said softly, "I'm starting to think you and I need a lifestyle change."


	3. Politics, brought to you by mercenaries

The following morning Kuina was utterly thrilled. Upon glancing at her beaten-up calendar, she found that the next three days she had no work to speak of. This miraculous event did boost endorphin production in her brain, and for a few moments made the chipping paint on the ceiling and walls look like white marble. The whole world was suddenly beautiful. Peace, like a beacon in the dark, was able to chase the war away from her.

"Off du-ty!" She chanted, skipping around with a pear in her hand, "So…what's on the work-free agenda?" She had to consider it for a moment.

While munching breakfast, Kuina returned to her room and dressed, and then retrieved some money from her cookie-jar stash in the cupboard. First stop on the itinerary was the market.

Food shopping in Mist was a very cruel joke. There were imports of every kind, but the war had made things so incredibly expensive the shelves were always fully stocked. No one bought anything in the village, most often because there were plenty of farmers and civilians to steal from out in the countryside.  _'Shinobi always do prefer a free lunch.'_ She though bitterly.

She flitted from one stand to the next, picking up the usual comestibles, and grudgingly handed over notes to the venders. A shrill laugh caught her attention, and Kuina looked across the street to see a gaggle of children playing ball in the road. Though she normally would have found it endearing, the scene quickly filled her with dread. The children were filthy and their parents were nowhere to be seen.  _'I wonder if Kyonjin-sama is aware of this…when is he going to make an effort to protect the people inside his own village?'_ She personally could not stand the notion of unaccompanied children, since she knew first-hand how hard it could be.

Around the corner in the retail district, or what was left of it, Kuina stopped outside of a shop window. She had a keenness for picking things that would help her career-wise. That could range from things including weaponry, medical supplies, and even attire. Her senses tingled as she spied the knee-high boots on display. Fashioned from thick material, most likely for kunoichi ( _This is a wise shop-keeper indeed!_ ) these were too valuable to pass by. Her last pair of boots had been ruined by makibishi in a very hairy battle.

Kuina indulged the impulse and went inside. The shopkeeper looked stunned, as if he hadn't had a customer in days. After getting her boots she took pity on the man and bought new arm guards as well. She complimented him on the quality of the equipment, and dropped a hint that she would stop by in the future. Gratitude shown in his eyes as he saw her out.

An aspect of the market she did not like were the hack-merchants who sold all of the war contraband. These curios often got swept up in-between towns from the countryside, stolen or otherwise, and were often repossessed or sold in Mist. Even though she didn't agree with the practice, Kuina still spared a glance at the stands from time to time. Her blood ran cold when she saw a familiar weapon at a station.

It was a twin-handled, marquise-shaped broadsword, uncannily similar in appearance to the one her sensei wielded. Though she hadn't seen the man in a long time (Kyonjin had sent him to spearhead the fighting on the frontlines) she prayed for his safety. Could he have been killed and plundered out in the field? It was highly,  _highly,_ improbable that the blade Hiramekarei had left her master's side, so she chose to relax. The pang of fear did make her wonder why he had still agreed to go where the fighting was worst,  _'He always was a bit of a lunatic…'_

She was wary as she pressed further into the heart of the village with her purchases. Occasionally, as it had happened before, a thief would turn up and try to snatch what he or she could. It was always humiliating to beat up an unsuspecting and desperate homeless person, she thought, and then have to explain to Kyonjin and his officers why she'd done it. If she noticed any lurkers she planned to go by the rooftops.

Kuina did in fact encounter someone on the street, but it was a face she knew well.

"Guo! You're not at work?" She smiled when she saw him, "What are you doing out here?" For a brief moment she expected that his presence could indicate that she was needed at the hospital.

The young medic-nin greeted his superior, "I have to go back in by three, Chief. I was just going to catch some lunch."

She liked his response, "Can I join you? It'll be my treat!"

His cheeks went pinkish, "Well, Senpai…you really don't have to."

"We'll go halves, then?"

Guo agreed to it, and then changed course for a café up the road with Kuina. Since the heat was tolerable and a rare breeze was blowing in from the coast, they opted to eat at an outside table. Kuina stored her bags beneath her chair, and ordered whatever Guo was having when the server arrived.

"Have things been hectic today?" Kuina wondered.

"I wouldn't say so. We set a broken leg, took a young guy into surgery, and did a ton of stitches, but there haven't been any fatalities." Guo sighed heavily, "If only things could be this trivial everyday."

"Well what you just described was a standard day at the hospital a few years ago, but that's not the case anymore." Kuina folded her hands in her lap and added, "I don't want to push the blame on anyone, but…Kyonjin-sama doesn't seem to understand that the rebels are sorely lacking medical attention."

"What do you mean?" He sounded unnerved by her comment.

"We fix up our shinobi when they return from the battlefield, but think about those clans….the Kaguya and whoever else…they roll over and die without facilities or ways to fight infection. My point is that their numbers have to dwindle eventually, so it's only a matter of time until this ends, correct?" Kuina elaborated.

Guo scratched his chin, "Hm…well I suppose when you put it that way, that's the logical explanation. But frankly, Kyonjin-sama isn't interested in medical statistics. And it's also possible the rebels have hired outside help in that respect."

"Who would be crazy enough to lend aid to Mist revolutionaries?" Kuina muttered.

"Who knows? Rock and Sand are always looking for a good fight." Guo shrugged.

"They have their own problems, last I checked."

"Name one village that  _isn't_ having issues right now, Senpai." He chuckled.

The Leaf Village almost rolled off of her tongue, but Kuina refrained, not wanting to say anything too hasty. Her sister had been living in Leaf for most of her life. According to her previous letter it seemed like the place to be, but Kuina hardly knew a thing about it. She wouldn't want to risk leaving everything she had in Mist to start afresh in a foreign place.

The server came back with their meals, and while they ate Guo prattled on about how things could be improved at the hospital. They needed blood donations, better quality staff, functioning/updated equipment, bigger facilities, and overall, more funds that Kyonjin was resolutely stubborn in supplying. Kuina could only listen distractedly to her friend. An unusual ringing in her ears signaled something; a sense of being watched.

Kuina peeked over her shoulder towards the street, but saw nothing aside from the normal bustle. She took another bite of chicken and tried to listen to Guo. The feeling persisted, and she glanced around expectantly, but could still see nothing suspicious.

"Something wrong, Chief?" Guo finally asked her.

"I just get the impression someone is watching us."

"We might be." He didn't seem bothered by it, "There are creeps _everywhere_ these days."

"You sound like my sensei…"

Guo shuddered at the idea, "Your master wasn't a particularly trustworthy man, can I say, Senpai? That wouldn't be an accurate comparison."

"Oh come on! Higa-sensei may be crazy but it's not like he went  _AWOL._ He's off fighting in the war to protect the village right now." Kuina defended, "You shouldn't listen to the rumors about him."

"Well I have heard quite a bit…" He replied lowly.

Kuina noted that the conversation could take a bad turn. There weren't many that shared her reverence for her master. Since she was for the most part finished with lunch, she excused herself politely, left money for her part of the bill, and went on her way.

After safely returning to her apartment she was able to relax fully. It was about the time she'd be out training or perfecting a new technique, Kuina noted, if not for the fact her team was dead. Her friend, turned teammate, turned lover, had died several years back, and since his death she had fallen out of touch with her teacher in turn.  _'Funny how time flies for the broken hearted…'_

She was just as comfortable doing a whole lot of nothing for the rest of the afternoon. Kuina refilled her hamster's food bowl absently, and then hovered around her apartment putting away groceries. She let the radio play soft tunes in the background, but she was not moved by the music as she so often was. Her free time didn't mean much to her, she realized in a crushing moment, because there was no longer anyone to share it with. The days were empty, after the war had robbed her of her team.

' _I could go looking for Nago and Sashayma…'_ She thought,  _'But their agenda is pretty clear-cut. I don't want to go out drinking or...whatever it is they do these days...'_ Hopefully not starting more bar-fights, she hoped. It was difficult to avoid bad influences, but she was no saint herself. In the back of her mind, however, there was one possibility Kuina had not yet explored. It would mean going fishing for trouble, of course.

She slipped her shoes back on numbly and left through the window. The heat was staggering, but maybe there would be some chilly relief somewhere.

* * *

Four days had dragged by uneventfully, and given Kuina some much needed rest. There hadn't been any emergency calls at the hospital for her, no devastating battles for the village to buzz about, and certainly no fun anywhere one looked. Mist was quickly becoming a black hole for entertainment.

Kuina had gone looking for Kamisori a few times, all in vain, and could only speculate his whereabouts. He was an interesting man to say the least, but Kuina concluded he was not the type that could be found: only encountered. Defeated in her search for a break in the monotony, Kuina reported to the Kyonjin's office on the fourth morning. He was pleased to hear that she had enjoyed her time off.

"Your services aren't required for any of the current missions I have prepared, but I must commend you for teamwork with Hayago a few days ago. You all made an invaluable discovery." Kyonjin told her, his cigarette clipped between his teeth.

"Did we?" She felt that the mission had been more or less a disaster.

"Yes. The Kaguya fled like rats from our counterforce."

Kuina glanced to Hayago where he stood a few feet away. His marred face betrayed no sign of pride over the news of their victory. Maybe he was still troubled about their loss of Oun? He and the young father had been friends for a long time, Kuina knew.

After being dismissed Kuina figured it couldn't hurt to ask Hayago a few questions outside of the office. "You've worked with most of the other jounin, right Hayago?"

He smiled slightly, "I would be the person to talk to about the rest of those fools, yes."

Kuina then didn't hesitate, "So it's possible that you know Kamisori?"

Hayago's orange gaze lingered on her for a long moment. He looked away and then answered, "I have been on a few missions with him. He is an efficient killer who can work very well in a unit, and also loves having women under him." He gave a small sigh, "Kuina…as your friend, I will advise you not to get any ideas about that fellow. His greatest talent, after all, is vanishing."

"I appreciate it." Kuina said, troubled by the information. Her impression had been quite different, but that, she thought, might have been the point.

A short while later she went to work a shift at the hospital with Guo. The week was uncharacteristically lacking chaos, and she wondered if it was possible the rebels had fallen back after the Kaguya's upsetting defeat. Kuina did have a fit when Nago turned up with a black eye.

"What in God's name have you been doing, Nago! Has Sashayma seen this?" Kuina hissed in aggravation, holding a bag of ice to her friend's face, "You better speak up…"

"So I got in another scrap with that butt-licker! Where's the fire, lovey?" Nago said grudgingly.

"Iori, again?"

"Yeah, the one and only fuckface who can terrorize people even after being rejected for his gender." Nago took the bag of ice and held it herself, "Something had to give, Kuina, and it was my fist in his ugly mug!"

"Well I suppose that's adequate justification." Kuina conceded, "Just do me a favor, please, and stay away from dirtbags for a while?"

"My pleasure, love."

After sending Nago straight home with ice and a fairly clean bill of health, Kuina wrapped up her shift. Guo warned her of impending thunderstorms for the evening on her way out. Dark clouds sat motionlessly up above, waiting to burst with hail and lightning. Kuina had initially wanted to make a break for her apartment to take cover, but how could she? After spotting a shock of white hair outside of the armory, she was fairly certain she had found the person she was destined not to find.

She approached cautiously, suddenly and unnecessarily self-conscious. Her hair was tied up in a messy knot, and she still smelled of antiseptic and sanitation chemicals. Kuina smoothed the front of her shirt, glad he hadn't taken notice yet.

Kamisori had been talking to a sword smith, and it looked like they'd just finished making a deal. Once the white haired man had stepped out of the doorway, she gave a small, friendly wave. His eyebrows raised ever so slightly.

"We've been running into each other quite a bit, recently." He observed pleasantly.

"More so in this past month than in other years combined," She agreed, "And I suspect it's because you're following me."

There was a pause, and then his mouth curved into a small smirk, "You think so?"

"I have good evidence: a few days ago when I was shopping I couldn't shake a certain tagger who had more stealth than most of the boobs who normally stalk me." Kuina recounted, then added, "I'd be willing to overlook it if we go for a drink, though."

"Ah, another drink…"

"Yes, but not where we first met, since…some altercations have now left me unwelcome in that establishment." She amended, a bit sheepish.

Kamisori appeared mildly amused, but Kuina sensed something in his attitude that conveyed a lack of interest, or at least…he just didn't care as much as she would've liked.

To her relief, he suggested, "I have a place in mind. Have you eaten yet, Arashino-san?"

Her head nearly spun on her shoulders. She hadn't expected him to remember her name, let alone be so smooth about it. She admitted she had only eaten once that day and before she knew it, they were off to the uptown area; far away from her apartment and with few means to wait out a storm.

His stride was long and catlike, awkward-looking beside her measured, understandably shorter gait. She would have felt horribly inferior next to such a handsome man if not for the fact that he was purely intellectual. Almost immediately Kamisori found a subject they could relate on: the war. He contested the attack strategies employed by the Black Ops, the uneven ratio of shinobi death-toll to the new trainees in Mist, as well as gripes about hopeful drug cartels investing in the rebellion.  _'I hadn't even considered that.'_ She thought to herself,  _'How does he know all of this?'_

Kuina was thankful she hadn't found a boring person. He was opinionated, to a point, but after a while he stopped talking and started listening. So he was interested after all, she realized. Just shortly after beginning to explain her duties at the hospital they came to the tavern Kamisori had been seeking. They were seated promptly in a corner table just as thunder rolled lowly outside.

"Well, now you know the basics of being a Chief Medical Officer, Kamisori-san," Kuina said brightly, "But I don't know much about what it is that you do. You work for Kyonjin-sama, you said?"

He was thoughtful for a moment, "That's true." He yielded, and took a sip of the wine they'd been served.

"What do loyalists do, exactly?" Kuina wondered.

"What you would expect any traitorous shinobi with a Kekkei Genkai to do: give away his clan's secrets." There was a bitter edge to his tone, "I have information on twelve different clans and families that the Mizukage has declared war on, and it's a wonder how they haven't yet realized how I've betrayed them."

"They don't  _know?_ " She was genuinely aghast.

"When you're a double agent, you make it a point to keep your goals ambiguous." Kamisori told her, "You have a much better job than I do, Arashino-san. In your case, you are encouraged to be honest, which is something I envy deeply."

"Please, call me Kuina." She offered, "And don't let dishonesty get you down, you're performing a true service for the Mist Village by infiltrating enemy lines."

His mismatched eyes strayed to the window, where blackness was creeping. "It isn't enemy lines I trespass on, but the defenseless homes of warring families. It's underhanded and duplicitous, and I have not been in an honorable battle since…" He trailed off, "But…yes, I suppose I am doing Kyonjin-sama a huge favor, aren't I?"

"Quite possibly doing all of us a favor." Kuina said, trying to lessen the tension, but in reality she could understood why it was difficult to value a village above one's own clan.

She had a field day keeping up with the man's narrations through dinner. She tried to eat with some dignity, even through the jaw-dropping stories, some of which she doubted the authenticity of, and was bothered to find she had little to offer by way of amazing tales. Kuina had considered mentioning her old team and their antics, but it was a wound she didn't feel like reopening that night.

A flash of lightning arced in the sky, but it still had not begun to rain. They drank round after round, and though Kuina knew better, she found she had fewer inhibitions because she wasn't babysitting Nago, or worrying about being caught in a bar-brawl. She tried some of what Kamisori had been drinking but it was much too strong. She downed a shot of it anyway, enjoying the soft haze drifting in front of her eyes.

Kamisori, infinitely wise, took the glass away from her, "You have spirit, but I don't think you'd want to ruin a perfectly good meal, would you?"

"Point taken." She agreed, unable to hide the ridiculous smile on her face. Was this fun? It had been so long since she had last had any. Her head was spinning, and coupled with the thunder growing ever nearer, Kuina thought it best to set out home. She also had work tomorrow, which was another drawback. She wanted to pay the bill but Kamisori had already picked it up. Outside it was nearly pitch black, with few lights to illuminate the street that was already swirling before her very eyes.

"Where do you live?" He asked, slightly more sober than she, "I'll walk you back, Arashino-san."

"Thank you very much…um…fifth district." She replied, dizzy.

In this state, she concluded that she could be mugged by even a grandmother.

It was nice to walk arm in arm with someone, and Kuina did her best not to humiliate herself in front of the man. Her attempt at small talk wasn't very good, unfortunately.

"Do you have a team, Kamisori?" She muffled a hiccup.

"No longer. I had teammates once. And I used to work with people from my clan, but that's unthinkable these days." He told her, "I am on my own."

"I'm on my own too." She related, "It makes the war seem…that much worse."

Back in the fifth district Kuina managed to locate her street and building, but as rain suddenly came down in a deluge it was hard to navigate afterwards. Kamisori used his blood limit to redirect the downpour from their persons. "Like some invisible umbrella." She had told him in a moment of idiocy.

To her surprise he suggested, "You should take a mission with me."

"I can't…I have work." She protested.

"Suit yourself. As it is, you'll be quite hung-over tomorrow." He pointed out.

"Doesn't matter. Work is work when you're me."

A bolt of lightning caught on a lightning rod across the street with a sickening crash. Kuina stumbled into her building, Kamisori on her heels, and tried her best not to fall up the staircase. She nearly somersaulted into her apartment, but entered with such grace it may have even looked deliberate.

"Could I join you for a cup of tea?" Kamisori asked politely.

"But of course." She lead him inside and shut the door behind them.

He was efficient at drying off. With one swift hand motion Kamisori had collected the rainwater from himself and his companion and compressed it into a sphere. While Kuina regarded the trick interestedly, she decided to be logical. She lifted her tea kettle, "Want to help out?"

Kamisori donated the water for the sake of tea. Kuina had a bit of a time trying to light her stove, and after a few failed attempts, Kamisori aided her, all the while she giggled madly. He seemed to be entertained too.

While they waited for the water to boil, an obscure squeaking sound persisted somewhere in the darkness. "What is that?" He asked, baffled entirely by what it could be.

Kuina of course knew her hamster was going at it again on his wheel, but didn't feel that it was necessary to bring it up. "Don't worry about it." She advised.

He assisted her in finding mugs, and though it took a while, they located a pair of them just as the kettle began to whine. Kuina poured hot water onto their tea leaves, somehow managing not to scald herself. Kamisori thanked her for her generosity, and she nodded vaguely, realizing the tea wasn't helping her rapidly developing headache. She took a seat and sipped gingerly, her good mood starting to waver.

"I drank too much." She sighed resignedly, "And I always do my best not to imbibe, but when I do…"

"What's bothering you?"

"My head."

"Come here." Kamisori set his drink down and skillfully wound his hands near the back of her neck. He worked two pressure points near her nape that would relieve the pain, and it wasn't long before Kuina had melted under his ministrations. A soft sigh escaped her.

She considered letting him continue even after her head cleared up, but Kamisori sat back and regarded her with sleepy eyes, "And now?"

"Better, thank you."

Kuina sat across from the man as they sipped their tea. Lightning crashed dramatically outside, and the faint tinking of hail became audible. "Would you like to stay here until the storm ends, Kamisori-san?" Kuina offered, "I know rain wouldn't really hinder someone like you "

"I don't like lightning." He told her, "And I appreciate your hospitality." He took another sip of tea, training his eyes on the window beyond where the storm raged on.

Kuina stared down into her mug, and for a moment questioned her own actions.  _'Of course you're a nice, generous person, no one doubts that…but why would you ask a man to stay here, honestly?'_ Some small voice of rationality was breaking through the booze-induced fog,  _'It's okay to admit you're lonely, and even better that you're finally having fun, but you're considering letting him stay! Considering letting him…'_

She looked up from her tea and shook her head, trying to reorder her thoughts.  _'You only just met him. He's unique, granted, but remember what Hayago said? He's a player!'_

Or at least, that's what Hayago hinted at. He was quite vague, come to think of it. But Kuina still sensed that Kamisori was much more complex than some dime-a-dozen, tail-seeking ninja you could find anywhere in the village.

Complexity didn't necessarily mean he would be any less high-maintenance: not to mention crazy. There was only so much you could tell from a first date, she knew.

' _Was that even what it was? A date?'_ The voice snorted,  _'Don't do anything foolish, Arashino!'_

Kuina sighed to herself. She was at the point where she could offer the man an umbrella and send him home in the tempest. She was indeed frustrated with her boring life, but she wasn't willing to invite trouble just to shake things up.

"You seem restless." Kamisori spoke up suddenly, snapping her out of her mental argument, "I hope you at least had a good time this evening."

"Of course I did." She said, smiling, "I'm still having a good time, actually."

He smiled slightly, "That's kind of you, though I never count myself as pleasant company."

"Maybe for some, but you're very knowledgeable, and you sure can hold a conversation." Kuina replied brightly, "I hope I wasn't too dull."

His eyes narrowed by the slightest increment, "Oh…you're not dull at all, Arashino-san."

If she recalled correctly, she did give him permission to use her first name. He set his empty tea cup down on the table and crossed to the window, still watching the storm. Kuina did feel slightly edgy, sensing the tension his words had sparked. She needed to say something to try and lighten things up, "Is it improving out there at all?"

"No." He replied. Thunder rolled a few moments later.

Kuina wasn't sure if she'd feel more comfortable sending him home or standing right beside him. She finished her tea and stood, collecting his mug from the table, and went to rinse them in her sink. She had failed to ask him if he'd like some more, but if he'd really been interested, he would've asked earlier. She couldn't have been running the water for more than ten seconds before the power cut out. Darkness swallowed the room, and Kuina turned the tap off with a huff, "Crap."

She was a quick thinker, thankfully, and knew there were some spare candles in the topmost cupboards. Of course, being short and temporarily blind, she would have a hell of a time reaching them. "Um, Kamisori-san, could you lend me a hand over here?" She squeaked.

He brushed against her shoulder almost instantly, signaling his presence. "What can I do for you?" He sounded very amused. She took this as a good sign.

"Would you be so kind as to help me find some candles? They're in one of these cabinets…somewhere." When she had said this, she had hoped he could've pulled up a chair for her to stand on, or perhaps, he being taller, scrounge around himself. So when he lifted her up bodily, nearly cracking her head on the ceiling, Kuina was, to say the least, surprised.

Instead of saying something stupid, which she nearly did, Kuina hastily tore open the nearest cabinet and began riffling around. It shouldn't have felt so scintillating to be held, she thought; it was such a meaningless touch. But he was much stronger than she had given him credit for. He held her without complaint for a long while, occasionally chuckling when she cursed or bumped against something.

When her hand finally did close around a fair-sized candle, she drew it back a bit too fast. Her grip slipped and she dropped the blasted thing, hearing it contact the counter first, then hit the floor, and listened as it rolled away in the darkness.

"For God's sake!" She fumed, bracing her hands on Kamisori's shoulders, "I'm so sorry about this. I really wish I wasn't so-" He had set her down again, "Clumsy."

"I can't complain." He said quietly.

Her hands were still on his shoulders, and the uncomfortable feeling was long gone. "Well I suppose, if it doesn't bother you…" She felt one of his hands rise up from her waist, a finger tracing her jaw delicately. Could he see? She wondered. Or it may have been a stray touch in the dark.

She began to doubt the chances of it all being accidental, especially when she felt his lips press lightly against her cheek. Kuina's breath hitched,  _'Oh hell…'_ and before she could make sense of it, before she could stop it, he was kissing her and she was in no way opposed to it.

Acknowledging that it was a bad idea, Kuina kissed back, as boldly as she dared. There was a shuffling of feet and then they were moving, roaming blindly in the dark, bumping into tabletops and walls and corners, kissing and touching as if they were starved of it. The hamster wheel was still squeaking persistently, and Kuina almost thought to laugh in that moment, but Kamisori was all over her.

Finally Kuina's back hit a wall, and the shinobi she'd had dinner with pressed her against it, kissing the corners of her mouth gently. He wasn't as tough as he had let on, she figured, a fact that brought her a great deal of relief. To her left she noted the doorway that led to the bathroom, and to her right was the door to her bedroom. Knowing she'd probably kick herself for doing it later, she pulled him to the right.

* * *

By morning the storm had passed. Kuina woke slowly with a wordless groan, her head muddled with an unwelcome hangover. She noted, with half-open eyes, that her sheets were twisted rather peculiarly around her legs,  _'Now how…?'_ and that she was quite naked,  _'Wait a second_ _!'_ and sat up immediately, her hair stuck up at odd angles.

The space beside her that had once been occupied was now empty. She propped her chin up with her hand and let out a long sigh.  _'Well, I knew from the start it wouldn't end well.'_ Kuina thought sourly,  _'Can't get your dreams in this village…hm…I wonder how long it took before he bolted?'_ There was no way to tell, as it was, she hardly knew a thing about such encounters. Her first and last one-night stand.

In hindsight, she found as she stood and made her bed, it had all been rather stupid. Kamisori was attractive, of course, but in more ways than one. She would have preferred to hold off on things if there was a chance she could have just been his friend. Friendship had a better shelf-life, she believed. Now she'd be lucky to ever see him again, Kuina thought, since it was tough enough running into him by chance. She didn't see the point in blaming herself, however, since she had no prior experience with such things.

Deciding to not take it personally, Kuina fished some fresh clothes from her closet and dressed. She stretched as she walked half-awake down the hall, and after rounding the corner she nearly jumped out of her skin.

Kamisori was standing in her kitchen.

She stood flummoxed, mouth agape, and watched as he made two cups of tea. Kuina lightly slapped her face a few times before deciding the scene was rooted in reality. It did help that he was fully dressed.  _'He must be a morning person.'_ She figured.

Kamisori faced her after a moment, his expression smug, "I like your hair."

Kuina hurriedly combed her fingers through it, mortified.

He waved off her concerns. "Come sit down." He told her. She did just that. She took a seat across from him at the table and thanked him for the tea.

"You didn't mention you had a pet." He gestured towards the hamster cage in the other room.

"Ah, well…all that squeaking last night…I thought it'd be a turn off." Kuina took a slurp of her drink, wishing she wasn't so damn honest all the time.

He smiled a dastardly smile, "It was no such distraction."

Her face heated up. Maybe now was the best time to speak candidly? Kuina cleared her throat before asking, "Please don't take this badly, but…why are you still here?"

Kamisori's blue eyes met with hers, clear and searching. "I have not met anyone like you." His expression was mischievous, "Did you expect to brush off this encounter? I was under the impression that the attraction was mutual."

"N-No! Of course I like you!" Kuina raised her hands up in defense, "It's just that…I'm surprised…I'm not exactly the kind of woman that men chase after."

Kamisori remained silent, and she hoped that wasn't his way of agreeing. She sipped her tea, aware that he was thinking about something.

What she was feeling then felt an awful lot like what she had felt a few years earlier. The sensation of rising so rapidly that her stomach did loops…followed by crushing disappointment and heartache.  _'If I am actually…going to go through with this…I am setting up ground rules now!'_ She thought to herself,  _'I will_ _ **not**_ _repeat what happened last time.'_

"Kamisori?" His gaze returned to her when she spoke, "Listen, there's no way I can put this articulately so I'm just going to say it: if you're…trying to mess with my head, or finances, or career…just leave now. I'm not going to make time for anyone two-faced. I've had my share of…bad experiences…and quite frankly, not one among your gender has redeemed men in my eyes so far."

"Ah…" He considered what she had said, then replied, "You are making a perfectly reasonable request. Though on what grounds, may I ask, do you distrust me?"

"Well Hayago informed me that-"

"Hayago is one of your friends?" Kamisori frowned a bit, "He is not very fond of me."

"He indeed made that clear…" Kuina agreed, rubbing her forehead as it began to throb.

Kamisori leaned on the table, "If your hesitation is a question of faithfulness then you needn't worry." He was smirking, "You have easily engaged my devotion."

She laughed, "Smooth! But unlike most women I-" Kamisori interrupted her, looming over her in a way that mandated her full attention.

"If  **I** may now be frank with you, Kuina, it sounds to me as if you are comparing yourself to other women of this village…" He had an affinity for making a point, "May I be so bold as to say that what you are thinking is utter nonsense, and that if you would be willing to take on a challenge such as myself I can make it worth your while for a very long time."

Kuina felt the uncertain tingling feeling in her stomach subside into a thrilled hum.

"Well when you put it that way…" She sipped her tea, grinning to herself, "I really can't afford to argue with you…"

His strange eyes were boring holes into her head, and when she met them with her own stare his mouth contacted hers almost instantly. Kuina kissed back gingerly, her head swimming with a mixture of hangover and euphoria. She pushed against his shoulders, mentioning, "I'm…going to work."

His eyes were still closed, intent on continuing the kiss. Kamisori's face hovered near hers for a tantalizing moment before he drew back, sighing with minor frustration.

"Hey, is it too much to ask if…" Kuina's paused, her eyebrows knitting, "If when I get back later...you'll be here?"

Kamisori finished his tea, watching her.

"I can accommodate you."

* * *

Zabuza did not have time to prepare when a member of his Black Ops squadron appeared in his apartment. He was no fan of other shinobi showing up at random, but he had no control over it. Not much topped the easy living of government-provided housing. After throwing on a flak vest and seizing the Seversword out of habit, Zabuza set out. He understood that the meeting was meant to be informative and not a briefing for a mission. The Mizukage obviously wanted everyone of consequence in attendance.

The heat was oppressive in the administration office. Several Jounin and Black Ops were present, having just received the word as well. Zabuza stood off to the side of the room, keeping his eyes fixed on Kyonjin as the lump of a man leaned on his desk and lit a cigarette.

The Mizukage exhaled a gray line of smoke before addressing his shinobi, "I am going to cut straight to the chase of why you're here. I congratulate all of you for coordinating and successfully driving back the rebellion threat that surfaced this past week. However, part of the attack force that drove out the Kaguya regiment, as you know, suffered casualties. There was only one captured, and interestingly enough…it was our own loyalist Kaguya Shon."

A ripple of suspicious murmuring coursed through the cramped space. Zabuza did not react outwardly, but was still taken aback. Shon had been a member of the Seven Swords. More importantly, he had been one of the few members Zabuza had respected. The Kaguya clan was probably making a statement of some kind by leaving one of their own, however disloyal, alive.

Zabuza glanced toward the back of the room to where Kurosuki Raiga was standing. Another former member of the Swords, about Zabuza's age. Zabuza considered him dense, fidgety, and unable to think for himself without direct leadership. Worse still was that once the Swords had been disbanded, Raiga had not been too broken up about it. He had almost immediately sworn himself into the Hunter-nin Division for a cozy, lap-dog lifestyle and quickly dusted his hands of his former teammates. After a few beats Zabuza returned his attention to the front of the room.

Kyonjin continued, "This incident has proven to be advantageous. With the Kaguya domain exposed, Mist will be able to exploit their lowered defenses. Sufficient intelligence has been projected to be gathered within the month, and with that data a task force will be sent to accompany Utakata. Once the Kaguya have been eliminated, the remaining clans will soon follow…"

Zabuza restrained himself from rolling his eyes. Sending Utakata would be effective…provided his auxiliary team got him into the Kaguya fortress  _alive_.

A few reports followed up Kyonjin's announcement before all were dismissed. One of the Water Country's diplomats who had been present at the meeting suggested the shinobi get vaccinated in the tower lobby, "Half the village is suffering already…"

The ninja moved out, but only a handful took the stairwell down to the lobby. Zabuza caught the eye of Kamisori, one of the elder members of the Swords, though he no longer carried his blade with him. Zabuza felt utterly neutral about the white haired loyalist, and on a good day maybe even a shred of camaraderie for him. His arms were crossed and he wore a dark look. He nodded slowly when Zabuza came to stand by him.

"I suspected they might pull a stunt like this…" He smirked wickedly at Zabuza, "We are very decent bait, aren't we?"

"Shon does not fall into that category…" Zabuza disagreed, "He could kill them all himself…he wouldn't have gotten dragged back to that hell-hole without a reason."

"Because Kyonjin probably ordered him to surrender. He would not hesitate to oblige such a request." Kamisori speculated, "I, on the other hand, would not approve of becoming a lure for the Yuki. Hopefully Mizukage-sama will think better of repeating the strategy with other clans…"

Zabuza gave a hoarse, bark of a laugh at the thought.

"You've been well it seems, Zabuza...staying out of trouble." The white haired nin observed, "I'm surprised you haven't started an uproar about the Mizukage by now."

Beneath bandages his mouth drew into a grimace, "Don't hold your breath. I was through with Kyonjin the moment he sat his fat ass down in that office chair…"

"You are still young and rash, I see."

"I can't take him out on my own. He's too heavily guarded." Zabuza announced quietly, "I need someone I can trust to make sure a coup goes our way…"

Kamisori sighed heavily. Of course he would want to overthrow the Fourth now. Back when the Seven Swords had been ordered to disband, it had just not been a viable option to kill the new leader…and risk incurring the combined wrath of the desperate inhabitants of the Mist Village.  _'And now all this time later, as we have seen the full extent of his incompetence…it's too late to act. The Seven are scattered and weak. It would take too much time and effort to coordinate a coup d'état…'_

Zabuza gave Kamisori a sharp look, "What? You can't seriously be content with that shit-for-brains politician!"

"Certainly not. I think he is a self-serving fool who has botched the recovery of our village." Kamisori ran his hand through his hair, frustrated, considering a response that would not discourage his old comrade.

"I will…" Kamisori lowered his voice, sure to not be overheard, "…help you however I can, though it will be on  _my_  terms. It is going to take some time before we can satisfactorily destroy the Mizukage." He chuckled darkly adding, "And it also depends on my returning to this village alive."

Zabuza was silent, waiting for an explanation.

"In four weeks I am expected to report back to the Yuki house." Kamisori clarified, "By now they ought to suspect something. I imagine that I might be rudely welcomed upon my return."

"You're still trying to keep up that charade?"

"For a month longer than I was meant to."

The younger shinobi shook his head, knowing it was a gamble. It was almost painfully obvious that Kamisori was siding with Mist, and there was likely no way he could justify his extended absence to his clan.

Kamisori added, "I do have one idea…one that might eliminate the suspicions of the Yuki."

"Yeah, and they'll see right through you…"

"No…I assure you, Zabuza, it's nothing that you'd ever dream up yourself." The white haired nin simpered.

"Whatever."

Kamisori adjusted the sleeves of his gi, concluding, "Keep me informed of Shon's condition. We'll discuss the takeover plan within a month, hopefully, but I can't stay."

Zabuza gave him a prying look, "Leaving already? What mission were you assigned to?"

"No mission." Kamisori said, turning to leave, "I am expected to be somewhere shortly."

The white haired man departed, leaving promptly through an upper level exit of the tower. Zabuza stood in the empty hallway for a lulling moment. He had forgotten that Kamisori, while he was older, wiser, and skilled, could at times say the most annoying shit. He made a low sound of exasperation in his throat before moving to the stairwell.

Down in the lobby several jounin had already been vaccinated and were leaving the tower. Two medic nin were present. One of them was the blue haired medic Zabuza recalled seeing report to Kyonjin frequently, and held the title "Chief Medical Officer."  _'Just another way to refer to one of his favorite pawns.'_

Zabuza stepped up to the table and the squirrelly man asked for his name, allergies, and requested his signature. A moment later he was seated and the Chief Medic sterilized a spot on his arm with a swab.

She smiled at him, "Well you never miss a vaccination, do you, Momochi-san?" She injected him expertly, and re-swabbed him within a second.

He grunted, not interested in conversing. It was true. He never missed one. But the medic was so outgoing that it was difficult to look her in the face. She was not annoying, if he recalled, but he didn't like how she remembered  _everything_ and how she was so…relentlessly polite. It was just downright weird and uncharacteristic of Mist.

"Good. Consider yourself armed and ready against this season's influenza. It'll be much worse by autumn." The Chief nodded, bid him good day, and then moved on to the chunin waiting in line.

Zabuza's gaze flicked to the building's exit, and clearly visible through the glass beside the doorway; smoke was rising from the street. He crossed over to the door and lingered, watching in a moment of confusion as rubble rained down from an adjacent building. After a moment it registered that some sort of battle was taking place, but not before the old jounin he knew was called Hayago had raced past him into the road, warning of an attack.

Quick on Hayago's heels was the Chief Medic, and then Zabuza moved, knowing it never did any good to rush into anything blindly.

An exchange of jutsu unfolded before his eyes and Zabuza leapt with stoat-like agility, his instincts demanding that he reach higher ground. Flames streaked along the road and pedestrians dove for cover. Hayago responded by firing water jutsu back at the attacker on a railed rooftop. Pressurized jets burst from the decorative koi pool beside the Administrative building, just barely missing the unidentified rogue.

The assailant had a partner down on the street, and Zabuza could see the medic had quickly discovered him. She clashed with the unknown shinobi, capably wheeling a chain scythe and maneuvering her opponent away from civilians. Zabuza swiftly caught up with the ninja racing over the rooftops as he was chased by Hayago's water assault.

Zabuza evaded as fire jutsu rushed at him. It was a simple matter of distracting the enemy with a water clone before he came up from behind the strained rogue. Zabuza tore a crippling gash in his back with a swipe of his blade, and the outsider folded like a piece of snipped ribbon. Hayago's jutsu immediately subsided, and the veteran rushed to help the Chief Medic finish off the other intruder.

With a snarl Zabuza kicked the dead rogue off of the rooftop. The body fell to the sidewalk; limbs askew and blood everywhere. He descended down to ground level as citizens began to peek out from their temporary shelters. Nearby, the Councilor's building was smoldering and Zabuza guessed the saboteurs had set a bomb off in the hopes of eliminating someone important. They had paid a very heavy price.

The second unknown shinobi was unconscious and bound in chains, likely to be kept for questioning. Hayago was barking orders at approaching chunin to report to the Mizukage.

Kuina walked over to the shinobi Zabuza had slain. She wore a disappointed look, "It's weird…"

Zabuza slung his Seversword onto his back, looking at her. "What is?" He grunted.

Kuina gestured to the fallen rogue, "Just before I had vaccinated the both of them…fat lot of good that did…"


	4. This learning curve is a parabolic arc

The Kaguya estate was not a traditional property. It was comprised of several semi-subterranean buildings in a defensible, thickly forested valley-region that was never, ever reached by outsiders. No one in the Water Country dared trespass.

There was no need for sophistication if there were no visitors to impress, so the architecture was conservative and durable. The grounds of the Kaguya lair had beautiful wildflowers that were, on occasion, tended by servants or clan members who were not fighting-fit.

Shinobi of the Kaguya clan who stepped off of the grounds melted into the surrounding woodland. So treacherous was the environment that it was said that disobedient children of the clan were left there for days as punishment. The older, experienced ninja could navigate the area instinctively.

Kimimaro watched from the porch of the scullery as shinobi darted in and out of the tree line. The Kaguya were only ever busy in wartime. They loved to keep busy.

He had already been brought into battle four times. The most recent incident had left him particularly educated. He had nearly killed a Mist jounin. The fact that the enemy had escaped with his life, he was told, meant that he was a failure who had to regain his honor in battle. Kimimaro felt that he had been lucky just to hit the enemy. He remembered being outnumbered and numb with terror.

Children of the Kaguya were taught that fear needed to be discarded. Stomped out. There were exercises every day for the sole purpose of obtaining composure and level-headedness in battle. Meditation, mock-fights, and being left to fend for themselves in random places within the valley were the most common training methods. Kimimaro, for his young age, was advancing rapidly, though he still hated going with his superiors into skirmishes.

A squawk came from the scullery and Kimimaro hustled into the kitchen. One of the superiors assigned him to watering-duty in the barracks. In a quiet voice he acknowledged his orders, and slinked off to fill a bucket of water at the tap.

As he filled the pail he watched as other children ran about in the yard. They never played for sport and good fun. Everything was competitive. Everything was about survival. The older children never hesitated to push smaller, younger children down. It was how they made each other stronger. Kimimaro was told he was much too strong to play with other children, and so he dutifully kept his distance.

Kimimaro finished filling the bucket, retrieved a ladle from a hook near the pantry, and then moved quickly across the courtyard to the bigger buildings. The barracks also housed prisoners, and there were never too many of those. Kimimaro knew his task would not take long.

Once inside the central building of the estate Kimimaro kept his head bowed as he traveled through each corridor. If he but looked a superior in the eye he could be beaten. Children, especially those in training, were expected to mindlessly submit to and obey their elders. His mother and father had been well respected within the clan, but no matter the esteem of a trainee's parents, children were always kicked around.

Kimimaro successfully made it to the stairwell that lead to the prison-hold without drawing any attention. He carefully made his way down the steps. It was a task he had performed so many times his balance was flawless, and he even made it look somewhat graceful.

At the bottom of the stairs the basement was damp and poorly lit. Kimimaro proceeded in silence down the cavernous tunnel, checking each cell for an occupant. There were twenty cells, several of which were being used for storage of contraband. He only encountered two prisoners, dirty and hungry, who held out their bowls for water.

Towards the end of the stretch Kimimaro considered the guard who was fast asleep in his chair. He had never been much of a shinobi, but he was a good enforcer in the barracks. Kimimaro passed the snoring man to the last cell, in which, to his surprise, he found a man.

The young Kaguya looked through the wooden bars of the hold, seeing that the inhabitant was new. Spell tags had been affixed to the bars of the cell in order to drain the man's chakra.

"Give me your bowl." He droned, having repeated the line hundreds of times. His typical response was silence and the lifting of some ragged container. Other times scraps or rubbish were thrown at him, accompanied with cursing or snarling.

Kimimaro was otherwise unprepared when the man in the cell stepped forward and spoke to him. "Now didn't your mother teach you any manners? I may be a captive, good child, but I am still your elder."

Eyes wide, Kimimaro repeated himself, "Uh…give me your bowl, please?" It had been a  _long_ time since he had said anything like that.

The man smiled gently and offered up a porcelain cup, "That's more like it. Thank you." He accepted the water and drank it down. The man seemed too healthy and relaxed to fit the prisoner ticket.

Kimimaro stared at the man. His hair was dirty white, framing his face in a dramatic bob. His skin had a good color to it and he appeared well-fed. He wore fine clothes and a splendidly decorated haori, and Kimimaro could not find any of the average indicators that this person had indeed been captured.

"When did you get here?" Kimimaro asked, wondering if he could get away with speaking to a prisoner.

"Oh…not long ago." The man took a seat on the floor, and then pointed to the sleeping guard, "See him over there? Could you kindly reach into his pocket and take what he's got? Just there, no he doesn't have any keys. You don't have to let me out, God, that would be foolish for the both of us…"

Kimimaro hesitated, but after a long moment he set the bucket down. He turned to the snoozing hulk in the chair and reached a small hand into the pocket of his coat. What he retrieved was a small silk bag.

"Good!" The man in the cell encouraged, "He's got a bit more than that. Could you hand it to me? Yes, you've got a good head on your shoulders…"

Kimimaro reached again and withdrew another small bag and some slips of paper. Unsure of what they were, but fairly certain they weren't keys, he handed them over to the man through the bars of the cell. Kimimaro was a bit surprised by his actions. He was more surprised that he had reached into the hold without getting his arm snapped off.

The man graciously took the bags with a nod of his head, then went to work. Kimimaro watched as the prisoner tipped flakes onto a small paper slip and then rolled it. The man glanced over to Kimimaro and chuckled, "You know I'd give you one, but you don't want to get caught doing something improper in this house! For your sake I'll happily take the blame, if it comes to it, I'd never mention a good boy like you…"

Finally Kimimaro asked, "You're a Kaguya, aren't you?"

The man nodded, "Yes that's right. The only sane one, at any rate."

"You must have betrayed the clan."

"Smart boy." The man chuckled, drawing a lighter out of his belt, "So who is your father? I probably know him."

"Eriasu-sama…but he died."

"Oh, he did? Well you look like one of his; he had a clean bloodline." He lit the rolled paper and took a puff, "Which one's your mom?"

Kimimaro wrapped his hands around the bars of the cell. "Yuto." His voice wavered, "Do you…do you know where she is? She didn't come back from the last raid…"

"Ah…that's not a good sign." The man said, sounding sympathetic, "What are you called?"

"Kimimaro."

"Well then, Kimimaro. Remember that the trick to surviving around here is to  _not_ always listen to what your superiors tell you. In the end, they are just going to use you up…just like they used your dad and mom…like they did me." The man sighed before taking a long drag.

Kimimaro sunk to his knees, suddenly feeling weak, "If I don't do what I'm told I'll be killed."

"I didn't do what I was told; do I look dead to you?"

"No, but soon you will be."

"Oh please, Kimimaro! I am too strong and valuable to be killed. I can leave whenever I will it, but for now I am waiting for a signal." The man told the boy, exhaling slowly, "Don't be such a downer…"

"I wish I could leave this place." Kimimaro said softly.

"You just might…"

Kimimaro shook his head, still holding on to the bars of the cell. There was no way out. No way to get beyond the wilderness. The cold, indifferent blackness of the forest that swallowed up insolent children and spat out obedient soldiers. There was no way to find the ocean that was rumored to surround the Land of Water. The Kaguya said they never had any use for water.

Shouting drifted down the hallway from the stairwell. Kimimaro straightened out immediately, his eyes alert. He glanced one last time to the mysterious, smoking Kaguya in the cell. He nodded to Kimimaro, gesturing his head toward the exit.

Kimimaro stood, collecting the bucket quietly, and raced past the slumbering guard. Soon he would come back to the man's cell to give water, and he would ask the questions his clan had forbade children to ask.

* * *

During Kuina's first week of dating Kamisori she came into a wealth of knowledge. They got along very well because Kamisori was nearly always willing to indulge her inquiries.

Her first course of action, naturally, was to take him to the hospital for a thorough exam. He was able to tolerate her testing his sight and hearing, his reflexes, and her insistence to get a blood sample. Kamisori could sense she had the best intentions, and figured it couldn't hurt to share information on his physical health.

In a short span of time she had returned to the examination room he was sitting in. She entered with a clipboard and a folder tucked under her arm, and she was smiling as if she had discovered some hidden treasure. Kamisori looked at her from his seat, adjusting his gi since she had taken it off earlier.

Kuina listed many things he already knew: height, weight, blood group, his perfect dental record, number of broken bones, most serious injuries, and the lack of diseases that she had originally suspected to be common in clan-bred shinobi.

But then she talked about other things: the birthmark on his back, his minority hair color in a clan of brunettes, immunities that he had, how he inherited left handedness, how he was extremely allergic to soy, and other such observations.

Kamisori was surprised that Kuina could decipher so much about a person during such a brief inspection. She held up a chart as if she expected him to understand the jargon scrawled all over it.

"I thought when I had first met you that you had an eye problem, but it turns out you have  _Heterochromia_." Kuina told him, rolling around in a desk chair.

"Would you care to elaborate on that?"

"Ah, well, in your case it's just a condition in which one iris has a different pigment than the other." She explained, gesturing to his eyes, "Your left eye has low melanin content, and your right has about average. Two different shades of blue is not normal."

He blinked, having never considered it before. His eyes had always been that way.

"Physical trauma or disease can alter eye pigments, but you, Kamisori, are a genetic case. I did a background check for  _Waardenburg Syndrome_ but you're all clear." Kuina assured him.

"Good." He said, not very learned in medical terms.

Afterward they returned to Kuina's home. Kamisori hardly returned to his place of residence since it was more convenient to have shelter within Mist.

Some of his belongings began turning up in her apartment. Another toothbrush had found a home above her bathroom sink. Men's clothing had snuck into her closet and drawers. Weapons were far more plentiful, and the tea kettle was boiling water at all hours of the day. Kuina's cookie jar stash of money in the cupboard was routinely filled. More mason jars had joined the original stockpile, thanks to her new companion.

Sharing her living space had taken some getting used to. Kamisori never crowded her, though. They ate and slept together without any difficulty. It was refreshing to have intelligent conversation with another person in her home. She never had to assign him chores because he completed them long in advance. She could not remember a time when her kitchen sink had lacked dirty dishes.

The only issue they had run into was the air conditioner abruptly blowing a gasket in the height of summer. Kuina counted herself very lucky to have a boyfriend who could cool down a room without so much as batting an eyelash,  _'Who would've thought I knew how to pick 'em?'_

And when things seemed too good to be true at times, her friends gave her the sobering facts.

"He takes S-Rank missions frequently. Not into direct combat, of course, but he still puts himself at great risk infiltrating rebel estates." Hayago reminded her, "Don't fall apart when you get bad news, Kuina-san."

"He's a very good actor, Senpai. He has to be! How do you think he has Mist  _and_ the Rebel forces wrapped around his finger?" Guo had added.

"I get it! I get it!" Kuina had replied, frustrated, "Anything could go wrong! That's how things  **work** around here! You think I wasn't aware of that before I got myself into this situation? Go ahead and criticize him, but what can I say? He keeps me company and I've learned  _a lot_ from him!"

Hayago and Guo stopped pestering her after the second week. Though whenever Kamisori stopped by the hospital to pick Kuina up after her shift, both men gave the white haired shinobi sharp looks.

The one major drawback to dating Kamisori, Kuina found, was no drawback at all. He trained frequently, exhaustingly, and quickly incorporated her into his routine.

She had been shown an ideal place to perfect techniques outside of the Mist Village. The woodland was nearly impenetrable on the far side of the main island. A wide river loped through the valley, dividing the landscape. Beneath pale rays of sunlight breaching the thick canopy, Kuina was shown just how weak she was.

Kamisori threw her, however harmlessly, around the training field. He was very proficient in taijutsu, to her shock, and he was constantly correcting her stances. She admitted inwardly she had become very sloppy since she had stopped training under Higa-sensei. Much like her mentor had, Kamisori drilled forms into her head until they became second nature again.

What did please Kamisori was Kuina's untouchable chakra control. It was so honed and poised to strike that she could throw punches much the way the Legendary Tsunade did. She was still out of practice, though. He had her repeat everything until he estimated she could match him properly.

Her skill with weaponry redeemed her. She used a chain scythe most frequently, however she had caught him unawares when she had unleashed a handful of senbon that had numbed both of his arms. His fingers lost all communication with his brain and he halted, acknowledging that he needed her to undo what she had done before he could use jutsu again. Her knowledge of pressure points began to rub off on him, in turn, and he considered developing a technique to reflect what he had learned.

Kamisori demonstrated to her higher level ninjutsu that she absorbed like a sponge. Perhaps Hayago would stop whining about him being a bad influence on Kuina when he saw the kunoichi utilizing new techniques.  _'This can be nothing but beneficial…'_

Kuina thoroughly enjoyed training with Kamisori, clashing with him as fiercely as she had dared. Once he began to use his Kekkei Genkai, however, she often had to surrender. He could completely morph an environment, manipulating ice to attack in whatever way suited the occasion. She knew she was a Medic nin precisely for that reason. There was no way to match the devastating power of a bloodline limit. To that end, she had chosen a profession that could counter the devastating harm inflicted by clan shinobi.

She watched as ice shimmered past her face in shards. Kuina knew when it was time to call it a day.

It was a strange thing to relearn what she had so quickly forgotten. Her skills were gradually polished by Kamisori's repetition and criticism. Working at the hospital had dulled what she had once been capable of on a team. Soon, he had said, he would join her on a mission.

* * *

By the third week Kamisori knew her schedule to a "T".

She worked four days out of the week, typically night shifts at the hospital, unless otherwise specified to take a mission. Kuina slept like the dead during the daytime, after working. Kamisori did not make a habit of watching her, but he did note how she slept soundly with a serene expression.

During her daylight inactivity Kamisori often went out on his own. There was always a task Kyonjin needed complete, or some food item that had run out. In fact, he did much of what he normally did. The only knew aspect of the routine was that he had effectively carved out a niche in Kuina's home.

For the three days Kuina did not work Kamisori commanded her time. He made sure to keep her on her toes. Her techniques could be shoddy some days. She occasionally proved to have butter-fingers, and at the rarest of moments she held short-lived arguments with him.

Kamisori had never been the type to quarrel. Though she knew nothing of his past affiliation with the Swords, Kamisori recalled keeping out of most of their disputes.

While growing up at the Yuki homestead with his sister, he had often been chastised for his benevolent ways. As a child he had been outgoing and helpful. When he was reminded that kindness mattered little during times of conflict, he slowly began to retreat into an indifferent nature. Kamisori had buried his sympathy thoroughly by the time he had inherited one of the Seven's blades.

Though Kuina did at times compel him to show compassion. Treating her with small affections almost came naturally, in spite of years of emotional restraint.

She walked around her apartment cleaning, and singing in a decent key to songs on the radio. When they had tea or sat idly for any sort of relaxation he would touch her thoughtlessly, as if to confirm she had not evaporated. Kuina was good-humored, bright, and respected his privacy, often rewording her questions when she noticed they rubbed him the wrong way.

Her friendship, he thought, could potentially outlast any other companionship he'd shared with anyone else in his life.

It did help that she was petite, nimble, and blessed with a body that he liked to claim hungrily. Having sex, while extremely satisfying, was not as frequent as either would have liked. Kuina's shifts at the hospital proved to be obstacles. Besides being gone all night, she would return at daybreak exhausted and incomprehensible. She fell asleep before he could speak two words.

Typically she roused by mid-afternoon. He would wait until she awoke; until she peered with amethyst eyes across the room to wherever he lingered.

"What…" She paused to yawn, "…should we do about dinner tonight?"

"I'll make whatever's around." He told her, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Kuina smiled into her pillow,  _'He cooks…'_

* * *

The war was going sourly, Kimimaro determined, since the adults had become significantly more aggressive. Brawls erupted in nearly every corner of the estate, mostly between shinobi.

Such moments of distraction often afforded Kimimaro the time to sneak into the barracks.

One of the prisoners had since disappeared from his cell probably executed. The Kaguya prisoner, however, remained in pristine health. He must not have been taken very seriously by the clan. The past few weeks the guards had hardly patrolled the hall.

Kimimaro came with water faithfully, asking about the Mist Village.

"Why is the Mizukage doing this to the clans of our country?" Kimimaro took a seat on the dirt floor, "I was told he wanted to be an ally of the clans."

"What clan would want to form an alliance with someone who had insulted them?" The prisoner replied, chuckling.

"You make…a lot of sense."

The man sighed, "To  _you_ I make sense, though many would disagree. Even in Mist people made a habit of discrediting me."

"How long were you in the Mist Village?"

"A good long time…plenty of time to learn politics." The prisoner said, "I was one of the Seven Swordsman of the Mist, Kaguya Shon."

Kimimaro stared at the man wordlessly.

"What? You don't believe me?"

"Where is your sword?" Kimimaro asked, disbelieving.

Shon rolled back the sleeve of his haori, exposing the skin of his left forearm. An odd, asymmetrical summoning seal was visible.

"I don't see a sword." Kimimaro confirmed.

"Well of course you don't, silly child!" Shon muttered, "Did you consider it would draw a bit too much attention to expose  _Kabutowari_? Much less that I am sorely lacking chakra at the moment?"

The boy quailed, "Oh…"

Shon regarded Kimimaro for a moment before smiling softly, "You won't learn much staying here. Perhaps if you help me once more…I can take you to a place better than this."

Kimimaro stood, approaching the bars of the cell. "You mean the Mist Village?" He asked in a whisper.

"Trust me, that's no place a kid like you would want to go during a  _war._ " Shon corrected him, "You'd quickly be made into one of the Mizukage's loyalist dogs."

"But then where-?"

"Will you help me or not? I don't have much time here."

Kimimaro glanced down the corridor. Seeing it empty steeled his nerves.

"What can I do, Shon-sama?"

Shon stood, dusting his pants off. He gestured towards the cell bars, "Take these slips down. I need to start restoring my chakra."

"If I get caught-!"

"You're not very clever, are you?" Shon murmured, "Get  _blank_ slips, child. Draw imitative characters on them! Have you ever deceived anyone in your life?"

Kimimaro frowned, "I'm no good at it."

"Great. An honest kid. How about you just do it, hm? If we get caught however unlikely that is, then blame me! I could just as easily bribe a guard to do it…"

The boy blinked, having never considered such a thing.

"Well?" Shon pressed.

Kimimaro silently began tearing the tags from the cell bars. He worked quickly, troubled that there were dozens of slips. It would take quite a bit of work to put up fake inhibitors.

Once he had removed all of the tags Shon had told him to hurry along. Kimimaro moved swiftly up the stairs and out of the building, unnoticed. Kimimaro felt that though he was truthful he was shrewder than most at the estate.

While remaining inconspicuous Kimimaro slinked across a courtyard to another building. He knew children were not permitted inside, but the place had been largely unused as of late. Carefully sliding the door open, he entered the study. In a flash of urgency he snatched up a stack of parchment, ink, and a brush. Kimimaro made haste back to the barracks, hoping he had not been spotted.

Back in the dank tunnel Kimimaro returned to Shon's cell and its bare wooden bars. Shon was laughing at him, "Well you're quick, alright…"

Kimimaro set the paper down on the guard's chair. He eyeballed the size of one of the slips he had torn down, judging it to the best of his ability. Shon watched as the boy produced a tiny, razor-like bone from the tip of his finger and resized the parchment. Once it looked convincing he tried his hand at painting the characters.

' _I've never been much good at calligraphy…'_ Kimimaro acknowledged, but the symbol on each tag was crude. He mimicked them with childish brush strokes, ignoring Shon's laughter behind him. After going through some thirty pieces of paper Kimimaro stopped to catch his breath.

He glanced over to the prisoner, "Why am I doing all of this for you? I barely know you…"

"Because you know without me saying that you doing me this favor…will work to your advantage later." Shon answered evenly, "Finish up now, Kimimaro. A guard will be coming down soon."

Kimimaro completed a dozen more tags before attaching them to the bars of the cell. He gathered up the rubbish and scraps, knowing the evidence would have to be hidden. "Now what?" He asked.

"You disappear. These guards are not perceptive, so I'll rest and gather my chakra." Shon told him, taking a seat again, "You've done well, Kimimaro. Rest assured I will make good on my promise to you."

"Should I come back tomorrow?"

He shook his head, "No. Tomorrow you find a place to hide. Someone very powerful will be coming here to destroy this place."

The boy's mouth hung open, stunned, "Destroyed? How could you know?"

"How could I not?" Shon retorted, "You will be spared  _only_ if you do as I say. Now get going!"

Kimimaro made himself scarce.


	5. Crème de la crème

In his humble opinion, the squadron was a complete embarrassment. Zabuza glanced around at his cohorts, considering it a typical assemblage of the Mizukage. In summary, the group was more or less an overreaction to the Kaguya clan.

There were too many people, with one division assigned to support Utakata, and the other to…well…  _'Fuck shit up, but he's so goddamn politically correct he said_ _ **coordinate.'**_ He kind of wanted to vomit at the sentiment. Two divisions were way too many meat sacks and not enough talent. If the Swords had been assigned to this, the jinchuriki's presence would not even be necessary.

And yet Kamisori was also present. He had hoped he could have gotten Higashikuni pulled from the front lines to join the assault, but Kyonjin had mangled the idea and squealed like a girl at the thought:  _"Not Abe-sama! Hohoho, not a chance! He stays where he is!"_

So Zabuza stared at the former swordsman he was stuck with, a recurrent pacifist. White hair, lavish clothing, and  **no** sword.  _'Dipshit. Is he in some kind of denial?'_ He could not begin trying to understand why Kamisori was not carrying Nuibari. The guy had been a goddamn  _surgeon_ with the Longsword, reorganizing people's  _faces_ , for fuck's sake. There he stood, a former paladin of the swords, now the boring absconder.

Also with the group he saw Hayago, who was a typical installment. He was good at guiding the jinchuriki in Mist, at least verbally, so he was with Utakata's half. Also with Utakata was the Chief medic, who was vested in armor and a grimace. While Zabuza did not see her entirely essential she certainly looked the part.

Most of the jounin were stationed with the Six-Tail's jinchuriki, whose expression could not have been any plainer. He was a tall, gangly, black-haired teen in a flak vest. Occasionally he tapped the scrolls in his belt with a pipe, as if mulling over strategies in his head. It was a well known fact that Utakata was not even remotely bloodthirsty, and Zabuza knew the Mizukage had given him several pep talks about "expectations."

In all honesty, Zabuza did not know how strong the jinchuriki was. He frankly didn't  _care_ as long as he got to perform the majority of the butchering before the final blow was dealt.

The squadron was approaching the compound by way of a deserted mountain path. They had been warned to stay out of the woodland for as long as possible. Covering considerable ground before engaging in battle was key. A high stone ledge provided an optimal view of the clan homestead down in the valley below. Hayago had the group halt before giving hushed orders to both divisions.

"Shon will provide us with a signal when it is time for Utakata to strike," Hayago explained, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder, "He must be guarded well. Many of his techniques will not work against the Kaguya."

The team leader wrapped it up by giving orders to specific ninja, "Kamisori, I need you and your division to clear a route to the center of the compound. Zabuza and Tsurugi will be your forerunners."

Zabuza glanced to Tsurugi, an older member of the Hunter-nin sector of Black Ops. He was wise and highly skilled. Tolerable.  Tsurugi seemed to have the same opinion of the swordsman.

Hayago turned to the Chief Medic, "Kuina, you must stay with Utakata at all times. If things get out of control…"

She nodded, her eyes bright. A look of confusion crossed Kamisori's face, and it was then Zabuza could connect the dots.  _'He's after the medic, huh? Predictable.'_ The loyalist lowered his eyes pensively, frustrated by the organization of the groups.

"We'll be moving out shortly," Hayago concluded, "Look alive."

* * *

"Is this true, Kimimaro?"

Kimimaro stared blankly at the other boy. He was small and could easily be shredded. He was  _not_ going to get away with this. Kimimaro looked back to the superior, "Yes, it is true."

The elder Kaguya scowled, "Really? So Mitsuna here is correct about you going to the prison hold without orders?"

Mitsuna dared take a peek at Kimimaro from behind the superior. Absolute hatred was clear on the older boy's face. It communicated the consequence well:  _Once I get out of this, I am going to kill you._ Mitsuna shrunk back, trembling, wishing his sweater could swallow him up until he was unrecognizable. Kimimaro  _had_ killed other children before, but this time it would be personal.

"Yes, I went to the prison hold without orders."

Mitsuna squeezed his eyes shut.

"Tell me why you went there." The man said gruffly, though he already had his suspicions.

For a moment Kimimaro weighed his options. There was no way to be sure what the penalty would be for his actions. Most likely severe, he was sure, but superior Kecho-san was the only one interrogating him. If only he had been informed, then perhaps there was a chance to…

"Tell me, boy!" Kecho roared.

He gave the man an even look, "I went to the barracks to speak to Shon-sama."

The silence was very brief. Kecho balked before he murmured, " **Who** were you speaking to?"

"Shon-sama."

"That man is not worthy of such a title!" Kecho hollered, then turning to Mitsuna, "You! Get back to your post immediately!"

Mitsuna scurried away without looking back.

"I can imagine what you and Shon were talking about." Kecho wore a sick smirk, "Unfortunately, Kimimaro, you've been poisoned by his lies and you are no longer fit to be a member of this clan." A bone knife began to slip out of the skin of Kecho's forearm.

"Huh. You wouldn't dare." Kimimaro scoffed, remembering what Shon had said, "I am too strong and valuable to be killed."

"Is that so?"

"If you killed me on a whim it will not be very popular with the rest of the clan." The boy reasoned, "Mitsuna is your only witness," He smirked, "And that will not be considered reliable."

Kecho was seething, "Well if you are so incredibly  _valuable_ to this clan, then you'll be valuable locked up, you mouthy scrap!" He seized Kimimaro roughly by the shoulder, and the boy struggled for a moment before cooperating.

He knew he would be able to kill Kecho on his own, the man was not nearly as strong or as fast as he was. However they were out in the open, and too many eyes would be on them. To bystanders, this just looked like an ordinary punishment in which an elder dragged away another hapless youngster. In spite of the situation, Kimimaro was being towed to one of the safest places he could think of.

Shon was a bit surprised to see Kimimaro escorted into the cell next to his own. He pressed his face against the bars, concerned, "Really, Kecho? What did he do?"

"Like you don't fucking know!" Kecho screeched back, throwing Kimimaro bodily into the hold. He slammed the bars in place before shouting at the guard, "This one is not to be let out under any circumstances! Traitors will stand with traitors!"

The guard locked the cell as Kecho stormed off. He gave Kimimaro a quizzical look, shrugged, and then returned to his seat.

Kimimaro leaned against the wall, wondering if it was better to sit or stand.  _'I will learn eventually because I will be in here for a very long time…'_ But being here was better than being out  _there._ Even locked up Shon had claimed to be free, and Kimimaro at last understood what he had meant.

"Didn't you listen to a word I said to you?" Shon groaned, plainly annoyed.

"Of course I did."

"Well you  _didn't._ You are supposed to be hiding so you can be spared from the destruction of this compound." Shon reminded him, "And what do you do? You get yourself locked up. I don't know what to make of you, Kimimaro."

Kimimaro chose to sit down. "It was never my intention." He admitted.

The guard jumped up from his chair, alerted to the danger, "What destruction? Is this some kind of-?"

Shon's head snapped toward the direction of the guard's voice. He raised his hand, firing tiny bone projectiles from the tips of his fingers. Several hit the guard in the chest, one in the face, and the last planted squarely in his forehead. The man swooned for a moment, dying, and then tripped over his own seat before hitting the floor.

Kimimaro blinked, startled.

Shon brushed off his pants and stood. He shook the dust off of his haori and adjusted it, glancing around the enclosed space. "Hm, it seems now is as good a time as any to get started…" He rolled his wrists to warm up, "If you would please be patient for a moment, Kimimaro, we will be out of here shortly…"

Slowly the boy stood, sensing the swift gathering of chakra in the cell adjacent to his own. Kimimaro backed up towards the opposite wall, wondering if he could get a better look at Shon. All he did see was the formidable bone drill protruding from Shon's knee swing forward like a battering ram ransacking the bars of the cell. The crunching sound of bone, wood, and stone was awful, but as Shon had promised he had torn himself free.

He dusted his hands off, strolling up to Kimimaro's cell. "You should be aware this day will be unlike anything you've experienced so far. If you plan to survive with all of your faculties intact you will do exactly as I say, understood?" Shon warned him, "Any foolish choices you make are not my burden."

Kimimaro nodded, "I understand, Shon-sama."

Shon sighed, slashing at the lock with a bone blade, splitting it clean in half. The cell swung open tiredly. Kimimaro produced his own radial bone knife and followed Shon down the echoing corridor. His heart began hammering with an anticipation he had never known before.

He knew the Kaguya compound was about to be attacked. Somehow Kimimaro felt he had conspired for it to happen as well, on some level. If the end of the Kaguya clan meant he could finally see what was waiting on the  _other_ side, then he would happily help bring that end.

* * *

Kamisori's group remained at the edge of the tree line. He could not help but watch as Utakata's group skirted the perimeter unnoticed. His eyes stayed on Kuina's retreating form until the forest had dissolved all traces of her. Why had Hayago put her with the jinchuriki's group?  _'Surely Utakata is well protected. Her skills would be better suited to my group…'_ Not to mention he gave a very big damn about the risks his girlfriend would be taking.

When Kyonjin had assigned them to the same mission, Kamisori had looked forward to it. It was long overdue and he felt that they had synced a fair number of techniques. What he did not account for was the possibility of separation, injury, capture, death, or for that matter, any type of harm that could befall the Chief Medic.

Could she defend herself? Yes. Had she told him a thousand times that she would be fine? Yes again. Yet it did not change the fact he wanted to fatally damage any person who threatened her.

"Yuki-san?"

Kamisori glanced to Tsurugi; snapped out of his brooding.

"Our division has successfully saturated the air with chakra. Perhaps now you could provide the second half of the technique?"

Ah, it would not be prudent to forget that they were setting up for battle. The technique was designed to support and strengthen Utakata's  _Shabondama (Soap Bubble)_ ability, which the Kaguya would otherwise be impervious to.

' _How cruel. A Kaguya can produce a wide variety of sharp objects, and yet they will not be able to pop any of Utakata's bubbles.'_ It was an old trick that the enemy would not foresee or be able to counter,  _'At least until he spends all of our combined chakra…'_

Kamisori half-thinkingly made hand signs, prompting rainfall. He blinked hard, focusing. It was crucial to make the drizzle appear innocuous, because the Kaguya were always on the lookout for suspicious weather phenomena. After he gave the signal, the melee division began a silent approach.

' _Good. Zabuza laid down a layer of mist...'_ And it was convincing too. Not thick at the moment, but when it came time to attack, it would condense and the enemy would be blinded. Kamisori came to stand beside the younger swordsman, glad that he could plan ahead.

Zabuza hefted his blade in anticipation. The first building of the compound was a few meters away, and would provide decent cover before the haze set in. The division spread out into designated formations. The grounds were quiet. It was too easy. The Kaguya had not even barked at the poor weather, which was usually an indication of their lowered guard.

Kamisori considered investigating the matter further and rounded the corner of the building. Seated on an overturned crate sat a very small, weeping Kaguya. The boy wiped at his eyes before looking up, and then gaped stupidly at Kamisori. A gradual, shrill scream escaped the child's open mouth.

"Move out!" Kamisori ordered. He seized the boy by his sweater and tossed him towards the back of the building, where the rest of the division could silence him.

* * *

Utakata blew a decent bubble with his pipe, gesturing for Kuina to test it. She prodded it with a kunai, pleased that it resisted the sharp edge.

"Now  _that_ is quality rain." She smiled at the young man, "We should thank Kamisori's unit later."

Utakata also smiled, nodding, "Typically rain is used to damage my jutsu, not enhance it. I could get used to this!"

A few jounin perched beside them in the canopy also took a moment to admire the miraculous bubbles. Hayago waved two fingers towards the ground, and the group descended from the treetops. A distant, high-pitched scream traveled across the misty estate. The shinobi exchanged glances before additional cries followed, and members of the Kaguya clan began scrambling out of buildings.

"This is it," Hayago announced, "Division One has been detected, so it's up to us to catch the enemy from the opposite side and keep them on the grounds."

Kuina surveyed the vast lawns surrounding the compound. If any of the Kaguya made it into the encompassing forest it would be impossible to catch them. As if Utakata had read her mind, he produced a fresh swarm of bubbles that walled the entire perimeter. Any stragglers trying to escape would be absorbed into a bubble and suffocated with poison gas.

Once the cautionary trap was set Division Two entered the fog; poised for an ambush.

* * *

"And that screaming tells us that we are right on schedule." Shon reported, "Now make sure you look like you are ready to fight some Mist ninja you ought to look the part."

Kimimaro took a moment to make an aggressive face. It was close to the expression of a person about to sneeze.

Shon sighed, "Okay, that'll do. Let's hurry along now."

Outside of the barracks a raucous battle awaited them. Mist ninja had bared down on the Kaguya as they came out into the open, clashing furiously. Kimimaro let the spike of adrenalin give him speed as he closely followed Shon. The combatants did not appear to notice the two retreating Kaguya.

Kimimaro briefly wondered if any of the Mist ninja would be able to recognize Shon as an ally during battle.

In a blink they had crossed the grounds to the main house. A few women hesitated at its entrance while others charged ahead to join the fighting. Shon brushed past them with Kimimaro in tow.

"Before I signal Mist," Shon explained on the way, "It would be in our best interest to retrieve some valuables that are here."

"They're going to destroy the Main House?" Kimimaro did not quite follow.

Shon stopped outside of a heavy hardwood door and looked at the boy. "Child…when I say that Mist is going to destroy this compound, I mean this place will be positively  _smashed_ to bits. They have with them a particularly dangerous jinchuriki…"

"A…jinchuriki…?"

"I'll explain later…" Shon shoved the door roughly. The storage room was disheveled and poorly organized. Shon swept piles of books and papers aside, revealing a wooden chest, and tore the cover off with a bone-tool strike.

Inside were three unassuming scrolls which Kimimaro deduced were the "valuables" Shon sought. The man stashed the scrolls into his shirt before turning on his heel, "We are making good time, aren't we?"

Two chunin-level Kaguya stopped outside the door, perplexed, and then noticed Shon stepping gingerly over piles of books. One of them howled angrily and charged into the small space. Shon struggled to get proper footing as he parried the boy's strikes. His companion also rushed in, further crowding the closet.

Kimimaro ducked beneath the teen's clumsy blade swipes. He slapped the chunin's wrist to disarm him, and before he could produce a new bone weapon Kimimaro spun away. He plunged his radial knife into the older boy's hand, and when that did nothing he struck again for the throat. The second strike was more effective. The teen stumbled, seriously injured, but tripped Kimimaro as he went down.

Slipping on loose pages on the floor, Kimimaro managed to hop to his feet and was promptly kicked in the side of the head. The other chunin had intended to hit Shon. Kimimaro collapsed again, seeing stars, and Shon finally managed to incapacitate the other teen.

Kimimaro's green eyes focused on three images of Shon's face hovering above him. The man looked mildly amused, "Are you alright down there?"

"Yes."

"Up you get then!" Shon hoisted the boy by the collar of his shirt, up and over the bodies of the chunin. He was set on his feet again in the empty hallway.

Shon took a gas lamp hanging in the corridor and tossed it into the storage room. Books and documents quickly ignited. Kimimaro said nothing as Shon continued on, pulling lamps down so the building would burn. They moved swiftly down each hallway as smoke began fill the air.

"Listen to me: avoid fighting anyone if you can. You must conserve energy." Shon advised the boy, "You need to keep up with me once we leave the grounds…and don't go near any Mist ninja if you can help it…"

"I understand."

Mist ninja had pushed the majority of the Kaguya clan towards the center of the estate. The dense fog had severely limited visibility. Up close, however, Kimimaro grimaced at the odd sprays and streaks of blood staining walls at unimaginable angles. They were fortunate to avoid "friendly fire" and skirt around a cadet house past Mist's forces. Shon knocked a few unsuspecting shinobi out of the way before diving back into the haze.

From what little Kimimaro  _could_ see, it looked like children were fighting as well. Only a few of them were left standing and they were hideously outnumbered by adult Mist nin.

They stopped at the house adjacent to the centermost building. Several confused Kaguya lashed out, no longer aware of who they were attacking. Kimimaro agilely evaded the adults and refrained from counterattacking as Shon had said.

Shon's graceful taijutsu distinguished him from their fellow Kaguya. Two attacked with bone weapons and Shon stepped between them, redirecting both strikes into one another. He weaved away like a breeze into the third, slashing the woman's throat as Kimimaro had thought to do earlier. It was important to exploit the few weaknesses the Kaguya had. With the threat neutralized, Shon glanced around and then gestured for Kimimaro to follow.

They scaled the building up to the tiled roof. The height provided a better view over the blanket of mist, and it was then Kimimaro could see two squadrons had divided and caught members of the Kaguya in a pincer movement. They were being held in that position by their eagerness to fight, and it was that belligerence, Kimimaro was sure, that the Mist ninja were counting on.

A cylindrical bone protruded from Shon's arm and he drew it out slowly. Kimimaro could see extra care was taken to produce the tool because it was hollow. He knew it was not uncommon for Kaguya to create sound-makers to signal comrades. Shon played four extended notes that hooted with surprising clarity over the grounds. After a pause he played them again.

Stillness hung over the sprawling lawns for a moment. Shon tucked the flute into his belt, his signal sent, and jumped down from the rooftop with his small companion. He was smiling slightly, "That takes care of our business here." Shon assured him, "We'll be on our way now."

"That's a relief." Kimimaro admitted.

They covered a few meters before spotting a lone Kaguya in the fog who had not been corralled into Mist's trap. Shon froze.

Kimimaro felt the shift in his attitude immediately. His calm demeanor was instantly replaced with a spike of aggression. Shon had hardly displayed any type of rage since Kimimaro had first encountered him. The sight of this one man, strangely, had triggered an intense feeling that even Kimimaro was wary of.

"We should go…" Kimimaro chirped, but Shon was not listening.

He watched in alarm as Shon charged without a word, while the man's guard was down. The target turned to see his attacker just a moment before Shon struck with an immense, bone-reinforced punch. Kimimaro caught a glimpse of the man's face, who he recognized to be a superior named Toyama. He flew backwards into a water container that blew apart with the force of the impact. Shon rushed again, intent on finishing what he started.

' _He already gave the signal…if we stay any longer we'll be in danger.'_ Kimimaro watched Shon's assault, knowing that there was nothing he could do to stop him. He wondered if he would benefit from trying to escape on his own.  _'But I have no idea where I am supposed to go…'_ Though it seemed like a terrible idea, he stood in wait, hoping Shon would wrap things up quickly.

Toyama somehow was able to regroup, and with a ferocity that nearly matched Shon's, countered with a bone broadsword. They screamed unintelligibly at each other, slashing with such ruthless abandon that Kimimaro was sure their hatred went far beyond any rivalry that was typical within the Kaguya. Defensive bone spikes stuck out from the combatants at various points on their bodies, absorbing physical blows. Kimimaro observed intently.

Shon's opponent landed a sword strike near the nape of his exposed neck, and Kimimaro could not tell what kind of damage it would cause. Shon fought on, building speed on the slick grass, forcing Toyama to fight defensively. When his enemy was backed against another building, Shon took action. Kimimaro watched him summon from the curious seal on his arm. It was the sword he had called Kabutowari. Shon leapt high.

Toyama raised his arms, lined with bone spikes, hoping to block. Shon descended on him with the cutting edge of the axe-blade, superbly aimed, and tore down with the hammer's strike. It split Toyama's arms like toothpicks, slicing down into the crown of his head with a metallic ring. The weapon "Helm-splitter" has been aptly named.

The man crumpled over into a heap and Shon stood over him; a half of Kabutowari in each hand. He caught his breath before storing away his weapon. He touched the wound on his neck inquisitively but did not make a fuss over it. After a few beats he came back to his senses and looked toward Kimimaro, "I apologize…I…could not leave knowing that he would have escaped."

"That's alright."

A sudden burst of wind, saturated with chakra, blew apart the mist cover. The ground was trembling with energy and Kimimaro's eyes went wide he had never experienced such a tremendous surge of power.

"We've lingered a bit too long, I see…" Shon took off like a shot, "Hurry!"

He kept pace with Shon, headed for the tree line at the border of the estate. Ahead a wall of bubbles blocked their exit, and Kimimaro hurled several bone projectiles in an effort to clear the way. His attack bounced off the wall futilely and Shon held out a hand, "No…you don't want to disturb them. I'll take care of it."

He drew out his flute again, trilling a piercing note that popped the majority of bubbles within range. It made sense, Kimimaro thought, that Shon would think of a way out when other Kaguya could not. He had been working alongside Mist long enough to know what to expect during an attack. They raced ahead into the forest.

Behind them, the last of the Kaguya awaited the coup de grâce.

* * *

Four ghastly woodwind notes sounded over the battlefield. Utakata stopped to look toward his squadron for confirmation before the notes played again. That was the signal they had been told to wait for. Mist shinobi changed their formation, putting distance between themselves and Utakata. They lined up along the outskirts of the estate to prevent any of the clansmen from leaving.

Kuina hesitated, turning back to her friend, "If you need me I'll be close by, Utakata!"

"I know." He nodded and watched her retreat along with their comrades. Some of the Kaguya gave chase to the Mist ninja while others directed their attention towards him.

A young Kaguya charged as he gathered chakra, and Utakata did not put much effort into avoiding the attack. Abrasive energy coiled around him into a chakra cloak, rapidly growing as he released the Rokubi's power. The demon's towering form began to take shape and the youngster ended his assault, looking to take cover.

The fog cover dissolved. Out in the open field a pale giant began to rise in a storm of radiant energy. The Kaguya below quailed, realizing how they had been cornered. The slug beast bellowed as it swung a colossal tail down on them.

Zabuza stood at the periphery of the Kaguya estate, watching with mild fascination as the biju methodically pulverized each building. Occupants were crushed above and below ground, and the cacophony of screams was at its peak. He did wonder how much of the onslaught Utakata was conscious for and how much was the beast's whim. Either way, no Mist ninja was fool enough to get close to the jinchuriki at the moment.

' _Look at these assholes…as if they didn't expect something like this could happen.'_ Zabuza was not impressed with the Kaguya's escape plan, which was exactly what Hayago predicted it would be. Those that evaded Utakata had all bolted for the surrounding forest. Mist ninja allowed them to pass by as they raced headlong in explosive traps and bubbles that absorbed them into clouds of suffocating gas. Those that turned back to avoid the mayhem were easily filleted by patient Mist shinobi.

Kaguya scattered for their lives beneath the Rokubi as it obliterated its surroundings.

Zabuza acknowledged that it was an incredible power to wield, though he was no admirer of the "hoarding" of jinchuriki practiced by the Hidden Villages.  _'It's only an advantage until another village trumps your tailed beast somehow. These people need to get a life and focus on the shinobi they have_ _not these kids they outfit with monsters.'_ He was of the opinion that jinchuriki were super-efficient at getting themselves kidnapped and killed.

Oddly, Utakata was doing quite well so far. Victory appeared to be imminent. Without much warning, however, a trio of elder Kaguya broke apart from the rest of the group and scaled the last tall building that was intact. Two of them managed to plunge their bone knives into the back of the Rokubi, preparing what Zabuza instinctively recognized as a countersealing method.

He rushed ahead and Kamisori, who was also alerted to the hazard, was right at his heels. Several other Mist ninja returned to the battlefield, hoping to stop the plan from backfiring.

The third Kaguya, the eldest and one of the rebel leaders, had anchored a large scroll onto the Rokubi's back with bone needles. The elaborate seal on the parchment began to burn into the flesh of the beast and it screeched in response. Zabuza descended, flinging the Kaguya general from his perch with the back of the Seversword. The Rokubi's screams intensified as the battle resumed on its slime-coated back.

* * *

Kimimaro's breathing was erratic as he raced through the woodland, trying to keep Shon within his sight. The terrible power emanating from the estate could still be felt though they had covered a fair distance. The forest floor was a mess of logs and bramble, and Shon navigated it almost effortlessly. Kimimaro struggled, though to his credit he was young and terrified.

It had been generous of Shon to recommend that he save his energy, Kimimaro thought. The man possessed remarkable stamina if he could fight and flee without assistance.  _'One day I will be strong like that. I will not doubt my ability.'_ Shon's decorated haori jacket flapped wildly behind him as he ran. As far as Kimimaro could tell, this man was the best role model he had encountered bar none.

Abruptly, Shon leapt up into the treetops, deciding the branches would be less of a hassle. Sweat trickled down Kimimaro's brow. He was not accustomed to such strenuous travel. Focusing his chakra as best he could he leapt, but only reached a mid-level branch. It was isolated and the move cost him the momentum he had built up. Shon continued ahead but the boy refused to show weakness.

He jumped down to the ground again, moving twice as fast, and dedicated himself fully to his next leap. Kimimaro was luckier the second time he caught a high branch that gave him access to the rest of the emerging canopy. He caught up to Shon, though his spindly, eight-year-old legs ached horribly.

He felt less afraid of the swirling energy that was behind them. If Shon was confident that they had escaped, then he ought to believe it. Kimimaro put more spring into his leaps, coming up alongside the swordsman.

"Why did you kill Toyama-san?" Kimimaro asked, ending the silence.

Shon glanced sidelong to the boy with an anguished expression, "He ruined my life and took away what was most important to me."

Kimimaro's eyes reflected true sympathy.

"Because nothing was important to Toyama, I took his life instead." Shon concluded, "Now put it out of your mind, child. It is entirely in the past and that is where pain should stay."

* * *

The trio of Kaguya frantically attempted a sealing method as Mist ninja pounced. Immediately after Zabuza had hurled the general aside the Rokubi bucked wildly. Its roars of pain made it clear that while the jutsu was incomplete, the Kaguya had unnerved it.

The two Kaguya subordinates were flung from the beast's back. Tsurugi caught one of them in mid-air, planting his elbow solidly into the gaping mouth of his enemy. The man crumpled, bones surfacing from his skin in defense, but by then a dozen Mist ninja had fired water techniques at him.

His ally had not gotten very far either before he too was ganged up on. He plunged his bones knives into the chest of an unprepared Mist shinobi and ducked away, realizing he was completely surrounded. He called to the general for help but received no response. Hayago rushed the young Kaguya, goring his eyes out with his claw gauntlet. The man screamed and was quickly mangled by Hayago's squadron.

The general, though old, had been fast enough to stab Zabuza several times with a bone spear. It was difficult enough as it was to get near the general, but his giant blade was consistently blocked by the bone spikes extending from his foe's body. He was too mobile and too desperate to get hit.  _'Too bad he's on his own.'_ Zabuza glanced out of the corner of his eye, pleased that Kamisori had come up from behind the general.

His fellow swordsman completed hand signs before the general was able to turn around. Kamisori exhaled a breathe that struck the last Kaguya with a flurry of icy pins. They crystallized on the general's skin, "Fucking  **Yuki** traitor-!" and then sunk in, covering him and freezing him into a block.

Zabuza swung his blade in a proud arc, slicing the ice statue down the middle. The shattering smash was music to his ears. The two did not have time to congratulate one another when a huge tentacle crashed down beside them, knocking them back with great force. They rolled several times before skidding to a halt, dizzy, realizing they were still too close for comfort.

Staggering to his feet, Zabuza lifted the Seversword again, glaring up at the beast. "He can cut that the fuck  _out!_  It's over, right? Someone call that slug off already!" He looked to Kamisori, who was also trying to get his bearings, then to Hayago who had escorted his squadrons a safe distance away. He caught Hayago's eye and then bellowed, " **Are you quite finished?** "

Hayago looked troubled. He and the other Mist shinobi crossed the ransacked grounds to where Zabuza and Kamisori had landed. Hayago reported on the situation, "Utakata is not responsive. Whatever seal was used is irritating the Six-Tails…and he'll be lucky to get control back on his own "

"Do you know what kind of hell Kyonjin is going to give us if you don't get  **that** ," Zabuza gestured to the flailing demon that was spewing some kind of fluid, "Under control? This is about the goddamn time to pull a plan out of your ass!"

Hayago scowled, "I can see why you charm the Mizukage so, Zabuza. In fact there  **is** a plan underway at this very moment…"

Kamisori and Zabuza exchanged a perplexed look. Hayago turned his attention back to the Rokubi. It was only then they noticed that all but one Mist shinobi had retreated.

Kuina was darting beneath the biju's tails, trying to find a sufficient blind spot.

Zabuza could see the blood run out of Kamisori's face, horrified at what he was seeing. He made a start to run to her but Hayago had caught him, bracing himself against the white haired nin. Kamisori's eyes were furious slits and he thrashed, trying to get loose, "What are you-? Let  **go** of me! Don't you-!"

"I can't! I have to insist you wait here as we do!"

"Have you lost your fucking mind?" Kamisori screamed, breaking free but was quickly restrained by Hayago's backup, "How can  **she** be your plan? She's-!"

"Enough!" Hayago was face to face with the distraught nin, "Do you really believe Kuina would be out there if she was not absolutely certain she could do something about this?"

He stopped struggling, though he was still confounded that they would let the Chief Medic confront the Rokubi. Zabuza stood beside him, equally as confused, but decided not to further criticize Hayago before he saw this plan in action. By that time, Kuina had already found her opening.

The slug had slowed down, tuckered out from its rampage.

Chains materialized from the young woman's body, comprised of a most blessed chakra, and they burrowed temporarily underground before surfacing as endless, shimmering links. They wrapped securely around the Rokubi, which resisted with a deafening cry. Kuina held tight; her face strained in concentration. Remarkably, it took very little physical effort to hold the beast back.

Zabuza looked to Kamisori again, whose mouth hung open in disbelief.

The beast whined, somewhat quelled by the bonds holding it. Kuina made brief hand signs, "Soothing Spell!" before pulling back on her chains, and a wave of neutral energy swept over the Rokubi. It made a rapid chirping sound before it began to shrink. With a heavy breath Kuina raised her hands, calling her chakra chains back. They returned with gentle chiming, disappearing into her back and forearms.

The squadrons cheered, although they were uncertain what she had done.

The fussing giant relinquished control to its host. Its body faded into a tailed chakra cloak, and within moments it receded and revealed the young jinchuriki. He stumbled and fell at about the same time Kuina did. They laid sprawled on the grass, both wearing expressions of great relief. If Kuina was not mistaken, a handful of Kaguya had been able to escape. The mission was for the most part a success.

"Thank you…" Utakata said, pushing himself into a sitting position.

Kuina wiped her face, tasting dirt. She managed a smile, "No problem, Utakata."

Kamisori had promptly appeared beside Kuina and gathered her into his arms. She felt slightly smothered against his chest, but was otherwise satisfied with his protective reaction. "Are you alright?" He asked quietly.

"I just got scooped up by a handsome man," She grinned, "I've never been better."

He was smirking. His hand slid just a bit lower down her thigh.

Zabuza stood contemplatively beside Hayago. They watched Kamisori collect Kuina and Utakata wobble valiantly to his feet. Clearly everyone with the exception of Hayago was out-of-the-loop in terms of Kuina's purpose in Division Two. Her ability, whatever it was, was not native to the Water Country. After a long silence he stared suspiciously at Hayago.

"There's a reason why she answers directly to Mizukage, I take it?" Zabuza asked pointedly.

"There was…nothing I could do about it." Hayago replied, "Once Kyonjin found out about her powers there was nothing her sensei or I could say to him…she'll be living under his thumb for the rest of her life."


	6. Rites of Passage

Kimimaro made a soft sound as he stirred. The rising sun was pricking at his eyelids, taunting him back to consciousness. He laid flat on his back on the ground and could hardly shift his aching body. Despite all of his discomfort, something cool was pressed against his brow.

Light accentuated Shon's face, illuminating his bob of white hair. He sat beside Kimimaro, pressing a damp cloth to the boy's forehead. Kimimaro held still, his eyes flickering up towards the man in an attempt to understand the state of affairs.

Shon looked down at him with half of a smile, "You wore yourself down, child. Rest and you'll improve in no time."

"Why are you kind?" Kimimaro asked with a rasp. So far it did not make sense. Anyone who had ever kept him close or treated him somewhat well in the past had been using him for something. Shon had not asked for anything yet. It was almost as if he  _wanted_  to help people.

The man looked thoughtful for a moment before replying, "Well, Kimimaro…I suppose I decided that being kind was better than my alternatives."

Kimimaro stared up at Shon, considering the answer. He cleared his throat before sitting up, and then held the cloth to his brow himself.

"Feeling better?"

"Yes."

"You should, after all, today is your first day of freedom." Shon told him. He stood and watched the sun continue to rise over the grassy hills.

They had escaped the Kaguya compound, Kimimaro noted. So much would change now that he was independent of the clan's demands. He also knew with certainty that he could not survive for very long without Shon's guidance. It was in his best interest to stay with Shon for as long as possible.

When his dizziness passed Kimimaro returned the cloth. Shon rang it out before storing it in a side pouch. They took a drink of water before Shon commenced with the trek through the countryside.

Wildflowers of deep violets and pale pinks were dotted with dew. The light of the morning sun and the silence of the hills offered a calm the young boy had never experienced before.

The blooms were captivating, and his eyes absorbed the image as the symbol of the first day of the rest of his life. He and Shon stopped on a hilltop in the midst of nature.

' _I have a future now. It's mine because I took the chance.'_ The boy thought, realizing how precious it was to lead his own life. It was something he would struggle to protect. One other thing he had learned from Shon was that being a nonconformist often meant one would clash with others.

"Kimimaro, you are remarkably skilled for your age." Shon told him, resting a hand on his shoulder, "But you are much too reckless with your power. It is time for you to hone your abilities."

"I was trained at the-"

"No. You have not been trained at all."

The boy pouted, quite frustrated. He felt as though he either did not understand or Shon was being condescending towards him.

"You know of chakra, ninjutsu, taijutsu, and genjutsu; yes?" Shon asked.

"I do." Kimimaro answered firmly.

"There is more to know. Our clan never told you this because they themselves were ignorant. You need to know the history of shinobi, how they interact with one another…how they interact with nature. Every technique you will ever learn is based on the same principles; teachings that are ancient and most of which have been forgotten."

The boy relaxed a bit, "And…you know of these things?"

"I know enough about them." Shon said, "This knowledge was passed down to me, and I benefitted from it. Yet be aware that I have expectations of you. You must be disciplined: do not take your abilities for granted. Your power is not meant for selfish gain, and you need to cooperate with others."

"I don't know anyone else."

"You will in time."

Shon took a few steps away from Kimimaro.

"You possess the Shikotsumyaku, and so your greatest strength will be your taijutsu." Shon stated. "We will focus on hand-to-hand combat first because it comes naturally to you. I shall teach you ninjutsu and genjutsu later on."

"So this means…that I will be staying with you?"

The man nodded, "Oh yes; likely until your adulthood. Forgive me, but someone as young and impressionable as you really can't be trusted on your own."

"Oh."

"Now," Shon took a relaxed stance, "Show me what you can do."

Kimimaro looked at the man for a moment. There was no reason to hesitate. He rushed ahead, half as tall as Shon, and lashed out with whirlwind kicks that grazed past the swordsman's nose. For a long while Shon kept up with blocking Kimimaro's attacks.

Kimimaro made use of the terrain, aiming high with every punch and kick, forcing Shon to back down the hill. The sun had fully risen before Shon decided to go on the offensive.

The man's punches were calculated, and nearly all of them connected with Kimimaro. The boy grunted with effort, searching for patterns, and soon was able to block or evade Shon's strikes.

It did not matter that Kimimaro was compact and fast; Shon used sweep kicks and trips to slow him down. In the past, his enemies had underestimated fighting a child with the Shikotsumyaku, but Kimimaro understood that Shon was no such fool. He knew exactly how to deal with a young Kaguya.

Although Kimimaro had been able to manipulate Shon down the slopes during the training session, he had been incapable of causing any damage. Even utilizing his blood limit was a useless effort. Shon countered him in silence, avoiding bone-dagger strikes and projectiles without using any of his own.

After a long while Shon asked Kimimaro to stop. The boy bent over, hair tousled, and attempted to catch his breath.

"That was quite good, Kimimaro."

The boy looked up at the man incredulously. He felt pathetically weak.

"Hm? You disagree?" Shon wondered, then added, "Tie your hair up, child, you're a mess."

Kimimaro stood up straight, taken aback. He said nothing as he reached into his hip pouch and drew out two hair ties. The boy tied up the loose white strands unevenly before turning to Shon expectantly. Shon sighed.

"I can see you have your own sense of  _dance_ already, and it is quite effective." Shon complimented, "Every Kaguya has a unique style, although most are not very elegant."

"Your dance is the strongest." Kimimaro admitted.

"Ah…well…" Shon chuckled, "It won't be forever."

They both took another drink of water before continuing to spar. Kimimaro found Shon to be a very patient, encouraging teacher. The few teachers he had at the Kaguya compound hardly mentioned any concepts or advised him half as well as Shon did.

Kimimaro fought with tenacity but was unable to land a successful hit on Shon. He  _was_  able to force Shon in the directions he wanted, and he was commended for it.

"Think about it," Shon said, "You may be up against a more powerful enemy, or you yourself may be injured or at a disadvantage…and your attacks may seem harmless…but you can lead an enemy without them realizing it. Use your wit when your strength is unreliable; guide them into a trap."

The boy heeded the advice, but knew there was no such trap he could use at the time. He continued to fight, driving Shon to the flat road beneath the hills. Shon coached him to trust his instincts. Even after Kimimaro took several hits, some which could have been crippling, Shon did not criticize him. He reminded Kimimaro that it was only an evaluation.

"If you are committed to learning then you'll be learning all of your life, even if you're old like me…" Shon said, "That is the true strength of a shinobi."

They finished after midday. Kimimaro had not needed much time to rest before he and Shon resumed their journey. Along the path Shon stopped a few times to point out plants and wild fruits that were edible. Kimimaro had not learned any survival techniques in all of his time with the Kaguya clan. Shon only gave him fundamental information, supposing that for the most part Kimimaro would not stray far from him.

"So where are we going?" Kimimaro asked, "The Mist Village?"

Shon looked down at him with a small frown, "No, I've already told you that we cannot go there. We would both be forced to work for the Mizukage if we wanted to save our skins. No, Kimimaro…Kirigakure is out of the question for now."

Kimimaro was quiet for a long moment. So far Shon had proven to be wise and trustworthy. He had never liked any veteran shinobi he had met, that was, with the exception of Shon. While the man was by no means perfect, Kimimaro was unquestionably sure that he wanted Shon as a mentor. He would listen and follow because he wanted to; not because he was ordered to.

"So…if we aren't going to Mist then where are we going?"

"We will lay low for a while…Mist shinobi will be looking for me in the hopes of accessing the Forbidden Jutsu of the Kaguya that I salvaged…" Shon gave a long sigh, "Oh…I just can't bring myself to hand the techniques over to Mist..."

"I don't think it would be a good idea if you did." Kimimaro agreed.

"When things calm down we'll go to a secure place. I'm confident we will be allowed to stay there." He told the boy, pointing southwest over the hills, "That is our route."

* * *

Both divisions returned to Mist with surprisingly few casualties. The squadrons stopped in the administration building to fill out reports and then were free to go home. Kyonjin summoned the shinobi he had a particular interest in.

Neither Zabuza nor Kamisori were thrilled to wait in the Mizukage's office while Hayago gave details about the mission. Kyonjin frowned in disappointment upon hearing of Utakata's loss of control of the Six-Tails, but thanked Kuina for her intervention.

Kuina stood off to the side of Kyonjin's desk, waving her hands, "Not at all, Kyonjin-sama! I knew I could get the situation under control."

"I apologize, Mizukage-sama. I did not expect them to use a counter-seal." Utakata apologized, plainly embarrassed.

Zabuza stood with his arms folded, somewhat sympathetic towards the jinchuriki,  _'Yeah, like the kid could control whether or not he got ambushed by the elders of the Kaguya…but Kyonjin will probably rub this in Utakata's face for the rest of his career, that fucking prune…'_

The young swordsman did not comment out loud, but he was quite certain the jinchuriki did exactly what he was supposed to do. He saw the destruction himself. If Kyonjin demanded perfection, Zabuza thought, he ought to give up looking in the mirror. The mission was a success; so what more was there to discuss?

"What of Shon?" The Mizukage asked, pouring himself a cup of tea at his desk, "I summoned him as well, didn't I?"

"He was not with us upon our departure from the compound." Hayago informed him, perhaps a bit late, "In fact, no one in either division made contact with him during or after the battle…however he did provide us with a signal."

"Then I presume you did not recover his corpse?"

"Forgive me, sir, but there is no way for me to affirm whether he is alive or dead. The estate was burned to the ground and rendered completely unsearchable." Hayago replied, "Of the Kaguya that were accounted for he was not among them."

"How many escaped?"

"About a dozen or so, and I have two of my men tracking them as we speak."

Kyonjin took a sip of tea, his face stern, "Very good."

Zabuza and Kamisori were praised, and Kuina was handed a letter from her father as a reward. Kyonjin asked Hayago to stay and dismissed the rest of the group. Zabuza promptly departed.

In the corridor Kuina put her hand on Utakata's shoulder, "Don't let it get you down, Utakata. You were fantastic…my biggest regret is that Kyonjin-sama did not see you in action himself."

"Thank you Kuina-san, really." The teen smiled slightly, "But I know that I had made myself vulnerable and there were consequences. I do not want to disappoint the Mizukage in the future…"

Utakata continued down the hallway while Kuina stood to wait for Kamisori to catch up to her. She watched the young jinchuriki walk with slumped shoulders, not proud of what he had to tell his master Harusame.

He paused as Yagura, a fellow jinchuriki, rounded the corner. The young man wore a small smirk as he slipped past Utakata. The two had never been very friendly with each other. Utakata ducked his head to avoid the staff slung on Yagura's back.

"Hello Chief Medic." Yagura greeted Kuina, "Did the mission go well?"

"It did, although it seems as if you already know what happened." Kuina pointed out.

"Yes, I did hear a few things." Yagura confirmed, "I feel that if I had been a part of your assignment I would not have made you waste your strength."

Kamisori came to stand beside Kuina, slightly guarded around the Three-Tails container. He nodded in salutations.

Kuina sighed, hoping to defend Utakata, "Well, Yagura…it was the Mizukage's decision not to send you."

Yagura furrowed his brow; he had taken offense to the comment. He glanced to Kamisori, noting that it would be best to remain civil,  _'It has been said that Yuki-san is involved with the Chief Medic…'_  Yet his bruised ego simmered.

"It was not his  _best_  decision. At least this time it was not a choice he would come to regret." The jinchuriki added quietly, "When it is my time to be the Mizukage…I will have no regrets."

Kuina stared for a moment, for the first time realizing that the boy had great ambition. Kamisori was not surprised to hear Yagura's remark. It reminded him of Zabuza's sentiments about replacing Kyonjin.

Yagura excused himself before continuing on. By that time Utakata had disappeared.

Kuina sighed again. The exhaustion was mounting and Kyonjin had only afforded them one whole day of rest. After that it would be business as usual back at the hospital.

She turned to Kamisori. He also looked worn down, but returned her gaze with ardent blue eyes.

"Let's go home, Sori."

* * *

The village was blanketed with mist as the two made their way to Kuina's apartment. The air was chilled; a herald of the coming winter months.

The pair crossed town to their roost and climbed two flights of stairs in silence. The door ker-chunked behind them.

Inside of her apartment Kuina let out a long groan, so very tired that she was unsure of how she would stay on her feet. She looked at the letter from her father wistfully and then set it down on the kitchen table.  _'I'm just glad that he's alright and still corresponding with me…for a while I was worried sick…'_

"That letter is from your father?" Kamisori asked, undoing the tape around his forearms.

"Yes, and it took me a very long time to get it." Kuina told him. She stood balancing herself as she removed her boots one at a time.

They moved to her bedroom to put away weapons and shoes. Kuina removed her armor and watched Kamisori undress. Weapons and belt, then gi, then undershirt, then pants… Her eyes stayed him. It was apparent that he was also in a hurry to relax. Slowly she resumed her pre-sleep processes. She became lost in her thoughts as she unclipped her senbon holsters.

"Now that the Kaguya are finished…I wonder how this will affect the fighting on the front lines." Kuina mused, "I haven't heard from Higa-sensei in ages…"

Kamisori looked at her, curious, "And by that you are referring to Abe Higashikuni?"

She nodded, down to her underwear, "Yes, that's right."

"He was your master?"

"Yes…" Kuina raised an eyebrow, "Is that really so difficult to digest?"

Her boyfriend quailed for a moment. Truthfully, it was not easy to believe. Higashikuni had been a veteran member of the Seven Swordsman, like he. Kamisori was never informed that the man had taken time to train a genin team.

"No, never mind." He said.

They stepped into the shower together with the intent of washing the battle away. Kamisori finished scrubbing quickly before handing the soap to Kuina. She lathered tiredly with her eyes half closed. She needed sleep badly. Kamisori helped her wash, aware of how weary she was.

"It's alright, Kuina, rest." He let her lean half-awake against his slick chest, "Does your ability tire you out much?"

"Mm…not as much as it used to." She said, her cheek pressed to his shoulder, "I'm almost as good as the rest of my family was."

"Your family must not be from Mist." Kamisori stated the obvious, hoping she would explain further.

"Well now it's just my father and I. Everyone else is gone." Kuina explained simply.

That was not much to go on. His thoughts sparked wildly, guessing which parent was responsible, what her lineage and origin were.  _'Is her power a blood limit? There's no way to describe it…'_

Kamisori snapped out of his contemplation when he felt Kuina place her hands on his stomach. She was bracing herself, worried that she might slip and fall. He wrapped his arms around her, feeling very pleased when she nestled her head in the crook of his neck contentedly.

They stood beneath the water in silence. He was acutely aware of her body pressed against his. Try as he might he could not help but respond naturally. Kamisori opted to disregard his urge,  _'She's exhausted…'_ He would try his luck next time.

Her frame was so small…how had she been able to contend with a behemoth tailed-beast?

"It seems I know less about you than I thought I did." Kamisori admitted quietly. He reached for the lever and switched it off.

Kuina was lulled on her feet. She blinked hard in an attempt to wake up and said, "Why don't you visit my father with me? You can learn a lot about my family that way…and I'd like you to meet him."

He swaddled her in a towel, head-first. "I would like that too." He agreed, "Hopefully we'll have the time to arrange it."

They dried off and changed into fresh clothes. Kamisori was willing to put on tea and make something to eat but she shook her head in protest.

"No…no we should sleep. We can eat later…" She retorted with a yawn. Kuina crawled across the bed to her spot on the right, and she fussed at the covers until they came loose. She shimmied beneath them, rolled over, and then said no more.

Kamisori decided she had the right idea. He padded over to the bed and made himself comfortable. He looped his arms around her mid-section and pulled her close. The indigo locks of her hair were half dry and fanned out on her pillow. Kamisori traced fingers down her neck, shoulder and arm, and then stopped at her waist.

' _Truly amazing...'_ He thought to himself. There had been a time earlier in his life when he had been completely detached. As an apprentice to the swordsman Kuriarare Kushimaru, he had felt close to no one and nothing. He was a somber young man who had only been focused on perfecting his skills with the blade Nuibari. His solitary existence had not afforded him the opportunity to befriend many people, and certainly no person like Kuina.

She was so radically different from others in Mist. Beautiful and gifted, and genuinely compassionate to others…even those who did not deserve kind words. Her personality was as foreign as her ability, and Kamisori speculated on what his odds of meeting her had been.  _'That night in the bar…it was chance. It was nearly nothing. I had never seen her before…yet she had always been around.'_

He pressed his lips to the edge of her ear and paused to marvel at the soft sound of her breathing. He had not felt any kind of love since long before he began training as a shinobi. Kamisori had been ruthless as a swordsman, but he acknowledged that it was not because he wanted power or needed to kill. He was disconnected because that was what he had been told to do.  _'In any other event, I would have chosen to live like this.'_ Kuina had been, in a few words, a real miracle.

Maybe it made him more vulnerable, as many critics would tell him. The argument that love equated to weakness had some valid points, Kamisori acknowledged. However what his need for Kuina amounted to, he believed, made him fight harder, smarter; more keenly. She was a reason to do more. She could take care of herself. She was completely and utterly unique. His life had been enriched significantly.  _'I will be selfish about this and nothing else…'_

Giving her up was out of the question, and protecting her was a new challenge he had readily met. He did not deserve her, he understood, and yet she had taken a great liking to him despite his flaws. She had accepted him for who he was, and also for who he hoped to be one day.

' _And that,'_ He thought,  _'is the most remarkable thing about her.'_

* * *

Kamisori drifted back to consciousness the next morning. He had heard a sound. His eyes peered at the window to his right where frost had formed on the glass. He could feel a weight on top of him.

Kuina was hovering over him on her knees; smiling with bright eyes.  _'My, my…she recovered quickly…'_ She bent down, pressing the full length of her body against him as she kissed his mouth, soft and playful. His eyes opened fully. He let his hands come to rest on the small of her back.

The time he had spent reflecting on his good fortune to have Kuina immediately snapped back to mind. She must have had the time to reflect as well before he awoke. He said her name softly. He closed his eyes when he felt one of her hands roam through his hair.  _'Life before her…was not living at all.'_ He thought to himself.

"Good morning, Sori!" She was grinning mischievously, still hovering. He was aware that over the past few days she had begun abbreviating his name. He was not particularly opposed to the affectionate nickname, but it had better not catch on with anyone else. It was alright if she called him that. He wondered where all of her energy had come from.

His voice was rough with sleep, "Good morning, Kuina."

She bent down again, pressing her lips to the side of his face. He made a low sound in his throat. This certainly had his approval.

She spoke quietly beside his ear, "Take me."

There was a brief moment in which he was aware that she had noticed his arousal against her thigh. His mismatched eyes were fixed on her face for a long moment,  _'I am not imagining this.'_ No morning after a perilous mission had ever been as ideal as this one, he thought. Her small, nimble hands had already worked his shirt off of his shoulders.

Kamisori's smile was shameless. It appeared that they thought alike.

He rolled over, pinning her, and laughed at how abruptly his life had become perfect.

* * *

Kamisori passed the day relaxing and horsing around with his girlfriend. Before long, much to his disappointment, it was time to resume work in the Mist Village. The next morning Kuina bade him farewell and returned to the hospital for a shift.

He took advantage of the fact that the Mizukage did not immediately require him for a mission. There was plenty of double-agent work that he had been neglecting. He dressed and set out in the morning, unnoticed as he disappeared beyond the limits of the village.

Travelling northwest from Mist the typical forest gradually gave way to towering, ancient trees. The land had never been effectively settled because of the stubborn woodland. It was the oldest part of the island, the first to have been formed near a now dormant volcano. Only shinobi could find their way through this part of the Land of Water.

Kamisori was able to navigate a very particular route through the treetops. He recognized twisted branches and knotholes that marked his position in the forest. Few knew it as well as he did.

' _I should not have spent so much time in Mist.'_ He thought as he stopped on a gargantuan branch,  _'It would have been best if I had continued relaying information between the Mizukage and the Yuki.'_ He looked up to the grey sky overhead. No. Meeting Kuina had not been a setback. She was an invaluable friend and partner. It had been a chance worth taking.

He cleared his head with a deep breath before continuing on.  _'And by encountering her I have discovered one of Kyonjin's most jealously guarded secrets…and it is one that I will not betray to the rebels. Knowledge of her sealing abilities could begin another war altogether…'_

All the same, there was no reasonable excuse he could give the leader of the Yuki clan for his absence. It was just as Zabuza had said,  _'They'll see right through you.'_ He was probably right. The Yuki were very astute and nearly impossible to persuade. They were notorious for rejecting every single one of Kyonjin's early "peace-conferences" and had instigated many rebel attacks.

It would not be prudent for a shinobi to visit the Yuki estate unarmed.

For that precise reason Kamisori planned to stop by his personal abode. It was located in the thick of the northern woodland, and took nearly all morning to reach. After passing a ridge that was dense with vegetation he knew that he was close. The sound of a nearby waterfall was another landmark.

After a short descent down the valley slopes to the canopy of lofty redwoods, he had arrived. Kamisori leapt from a large branch to the back portico of his home. When living at the Yuki estate had become unbearable years ago, he had begun hunting for real estate closer to Mist. What he did end up with he did not purchase.

The house was built around and through the tree tops, its mid-section anchored by several ancient trunks. It was a traditional style with modern amenities that had been used by an elusive and wealthy drug lord. He had remained hidden from foes and sheltered a good many of his thugs with him. As a young man Kamisori had wiped out the gang during a mission and decided not to mention the residence in his report. He then had over three thousand square feet of space all to himself. He was still unsure what to do with all of it.

Kamisori crossed a footbridge from one treetop to the next, over to the main part of the manor. The blanket of dust about the place shamed the marvelous architecture. He was no housekeeper. It looked much more appealing from the outside. The inside was dingy and unkempt. There were few signs of life other than all of his worldly possessions being stored in a few of the rooms. Some of the furniture and supplies had been owned by the drug lord, and he had decided to keep what was useful.

Still, he would admit he was not proud of how the place looked. Living with Kuina had been preferable anyway.

The tatami mats and cherry wood floors just barely echoed his presence as he passed by. Down near the end of a long hallway Kamisori stopped and slid open the door to his bedroom. It was spacious and may have been considered desirable if not for the dust and murkiness.

On top of a display to the left of the room lay Nuibari.

He stood over it, thoughtful, and lifted the sword with reverence. It was a long, slim blade that came to a puncturing point. Built into the hilt was a long line of cable that could be used for many purposes in battle. Kushimaru was known for stitching his opponents together to scare off enemies. Kamisori had developed a similar method of intimidation.

It had been some time since he had last cared for the blade. Kamisori brought it outside to the terrace of the house to clean and oil it. The spindle of the hilt had a jam and it took time to work it loose. He tested the wire for imperfections but found it to be in good shape,  _'If I had stored it in the Master Scroll it wouldn't have been maintained. Mangetsu would have used it only for battle and not given it a second thought…'_ Not that he blamed the prodigy for such a thing; he was bearing the brunt of the war.

The blade only needed a slight sharpening. He lashed out and sliced a beetle in two while it had been in flight. It passed the test.

Once Nuibari was returned to pristine condition Kamisori tied it to its sash and draped it over his shoulder. Now came the hard part.

He set out once again at a fast pace, taking the shortest route out of the forest to the coast. The Yuki made their home on a separate island. It was a long distance off as well. He passed through the woods without disturbing a single leaf. The trees became scarcer towards the land's edge, and completely gave way to stepped cliffs over the sea.

The poor weather had made the waves choppy and uncooperative. On a better day he would have frozen a sheet over the water and crossed without complaint. Instead he had to resort to long-distance water-walking, using chakra to hop over steep waves. Over time it became draining.  _'It appears the Yuki haven't set up any patrols yet…'_ Even if he was alone while crossing the bay, it would be perilous getting near the Yuki stronghold.

An island came into view on his right. He pressed on, glad that the waves were less rough further into the inlet. Kamisori stopped on a cluster of rocks and coral. He gulped down an entire canteen of water and surveyed his surroundings,  _'Not too much farther…'_

A clear sky was beyond the dark clouds of the mainland. Kamisori reveled in the sunlight as he entered the outer reaches of the bay. It was just as cold as the mainland had been, but the waves were calm. He froze the water periodically to walk on top of; a more chakra-efficient strategy. Two islands were visible in the distance. The larger one to the left housed the Yuki estate.

Kamisori took his time, knowing that if he rushed to his destination that guards may react defensively. He was surprised to find only one guard posted on the beach and she let him pass without speaking a word. He looked over his shoulder. The girl was young and sad-looking,  _'I don't recognize her…'_ Kamisori stopped and turned back to the young guard.

"Pardon me, but do I know you?"

She looked up slowly. She was dark-haired like most of the Yuki, but her eyes were a similar hue to Kamisori's; blue was an uncommon trait in the family. She spoke in a gentle voice, "I don't believe so, sir. My name is Oehi."

"Oehi? That does sound familiar. Where are you usually stationed?" Kamisori asked.

"I am Prince Shiratori's personal attendant." Oehi replied, standing a bit straighter, "I have been asked to undertake more duties now that most shinobi have been deployed for battle."

"Are you a kunoichi?"

"Yes, sir."

"Hyoton?"

"Yes, sir."

He smiled, sensing potential within the girl. He gave her an approving nod before saying, "You may call me Kamisori. It's nice to meet you Oehi. I'm afraid I am not here very often and so I have not been introduced to all of the trainees."

"I see. It is nice to meet you as well, Kamisori-san!" She gave a formal bow.

Kamisori continued on up a small hill and through the main gate. The palace had sprawling courtyards and high walls. Each yard was adorned with stone gardens and trees that were both eye-catching and functional. He kept to the pebble-path that led to the main house.

Though unconscionably wealthy, the Yuki were not nearly as influential as they had been ten years ago. Shinobi and resources had been lost to the war, and the clan was much more cautious nowadays. They were willing to support the war so long as the Yuki came out on top in the end. It would be a difficult goal to reach even by their standards.

A few of his kinsmen were out on the grounds. Most had dark hair, although a few had light hair as a product of cross-breeding with the Kaguya clan. Only men and women who lacked the Shikotsumyaku blood limit were permitted to marry into the Yuki, and even then the trait was prone to appearing in children anyway. In the event a child was born with the ability they would be sent to live with the Kaguya. The same policy stood with the Kaguya clan sending Hyoton-children to the Yuki, that was, before they had met their end. A few Kaguya were currently living among the Yuki.

All were well-dressed and impeccably groomed. Members of the Yuki clan were experts at keeping up appearances.

On the terrace of the main house Kamisori nodded to one of his cousins. She only stared back at him suspiciously. It was not a good indicator of his present standing with the clan.

Inside the main house a servant ushered him along the east corridor to where the clan head was waiting. The servant slid open a door and announced his arrival before promptly retreating. Kamisori entered the room and bowed lowly.

"Jinsong-sama…please forgive my lateness." He was convincingly contrite.

Jinsong was seated at a table and dressed in rich, fish-pattern robes. He finished delicately pouring a cup of sake before he gestured for Kamisori to take a seat, "You've been gone quite a while, Kamisori."

Kamisori sat beside the clan head, "Please accept my sincere apology, Jinsong-sama."

"I may just do that." The older man peered at him with sharp eyes, "Would you care for some sake?"

"Yes, thank you."

Jinsong poured another cup of the wine and offered it to his subordinate. Not wanting to be rude Kamisori took an eager sip of it, although he half expected it to be poison.  _'I could be in for a world of trouble…'_

Kamisori procured a scroll from his bag and offered it to the leader of the Yuki. "Mist is particularly treacherous now, as you can imagine. This information was difficult to collect." His explanation was somewhat redundant, and more than likely useless.

Jinsong nodded and considered the scroll for a while. Kamisori had made a point to exclude Kuina from the report entirely, even though he had divulged very sensitive information about Mist.

After reviewing the main details of the scroll Jinsong chuckled to himself, "My…these jinchuriki are quite young, aren't they?" He sipped his sake. Silence followed as he scanned the document a bit further.

The dark haired man looked up and commended Kamisori's work, "Very good…excellent…but surely it should not have taken so very long to gather all of this intelligence?"

Kamisori met his leader's eyes boldly, "I have had good reason to linger in Mist. I have secured the Mizukage's trust and faithfully delivered this information to you, my lord."

Jinsong ground his teeth for a moment. He spoke gruffly, "What, pray tell, makes you so faithful and trustworthy, Kamisori? Hardly anyone would unconcernedly depend on a loner like you."

"I acknowledge that I have been gone for a long while, Jinsong-sama."

"That is abundantly clear." The man snipped.

"I'm engaged." Kamisori announced.

A pause followed. Kamisori figured it would be a sufficient curveball.

Jinsong was surprised by the statement, but also aware that Kamisori had been a bona-fide bachelor if there had ever been one. He looked at his subordinate for a long while, searching for intent. He was confounded. He had to concede that every aspect of the man speaking to him conveyed truthfulness. Jinsong rubbed his neck and then sighed, mulling it over.

At length he congratulated Kamisori, "How delightful for you…and such an arrangement will be a reliable cover while you are in Mist."

"Of course."

"Send records of your marriage to the estate…you may not bring an outsider here."

"Understood."

"Ah…very well." Jinsong rolled up the scroll, "I look forward to your next update, Kamisori. You are dismissed."

"Sir?"

Jinsong glanced up as he poured himself more sake.

Kamisori continued, "Has there been any word from Okimo?"

The leader gave an even deeper sigh, "Only the one note and you saw it long ago. I'm afraid your sister has no intentions of returning here. I do grieve her loss…there is no way to tell if she has survived the war or not."

Kamisori nodded, "Thank you, Jinsong-sama."

He exited the tea room, wounded by the news. He could not blame his sister for fleeing the Yuki clan. It had been torturous for her.

Kamisori made his way in silence out of the main house and down the steps. Across the courtyard he could see a few elite members of the Yuki, and among them, a man dressed in silver regalia. He was looking in Kamisori's direction, smirking impishly.

His blood boiled.

Though elegant-looking, the silver-clad nin was the same piece of filth that had broken his sister's spirit years ago. Yuki Inejiro: a veteran Hyoton-user and a ruthless, womanizing brute. His sister had not been the first woman in the clan who had run away, but likely the last since the war had intensified.

Kamisori took to the pebble-path at a brisk pace, hoping his desire to fillet the arrogant thug was not too apparent.  _'The day that Inejiro sets foot on the main island…I'll stitch him until he begs for the relief of hell.'_

* * *

Kuina returned home from work in a very good mood. Guo had agreed to begin training for advanced medical techniques required of high-level officers. Presently, she was the only officer,  _'I'm in charge! Of…myself…'_

With any luck, Guo would be able to replace her as Chief in less than ten years. Tentatively, ten years. Now  _that_ was how a champion planned retirement. A real investment;  _'I mean apprentice! Yeah. He's more like an informal apprentice…'_

She set a plastic bag of groceries down on the counter, chuckling to herself.

Guo was talented and mentally stable. He was worthy of the knowledge. The techniques she had collected from tireless, up-all-night-for-weeks reading all those years ago. There was no use making another busy young medic sift through volumes of tome-like health journals. She had done it all in one fell swoop as a young woman in order to deal with depression and heartache. Somehow she had survived the dark chapter of her life and ended up successful. Guo's story ought to be happier, she felt. Simpler.

Kuina opened the refrigerator and stowed away the meat and vegetables that she had paid  _too_ much for,  _'Hey, food is a war-time luxury.'_ Then, she arranged the other perishables she had bought just to conceal her carton of milk. She hoped hiding it at the very back amongst bags and boxes would prevent Kamisori from locating it and quickly guzzling it down. It was a pet peeve.  _'He drinks it all at once, that animal. He won't buy his own either.'_ Kuina had disguised her dairy and then stood and shut the door,  _'Men...'_

Once her task was done she went to the stove to put on some tea. A note was taped to the kettle. She pulled it off:  _Kuina, I'll be back tonight._ Smiling to herself she put the scrap paper aside and lit the stove. Though she did not know where he had gone she certainly looked forward to his return.

She went to the living room window and opened it a crack to let the cool air in,  _'Man is it stuffy in here…'_ Her hamster was nestled in the bedding at the bottom of his cage, and she scooped him up, taking him with her back to the kitchen. The small rodent fidgeted sleepily in her palm.

She took a seat at the table and set her hamster down beside a pile of sunflower seeds. While her pet tucked into his dinner, Kuina opened the long-awaited letter from her fisherman father.

_To my only daughter: Hello Kuina, I'm sorry that it takes so long to get back to you. These couriers are a bunch of chicken-shits. If I were a bit younger I'd go around delivering mail myself, and I don't care that we're in the middle of a war either. I've dealt with ninja before in my life! You wouldn't know it, but right now we are experiencing one of the worst fishing seasons in five years. You probably already pay top dollar for your food in Mist, I bet._

Kuina glanced over to her refrigerator and frowned. True. Keeping food around sucked up a large portion of her paycheck. It was ludicrous. She continued reading.

_Other than that, I can't complain. I'm fed and I'm safe. I have good, honorable neighbors. We can get by. You, on the other hand, I worry about. You have a lot of responsibility on your young shoulders. I still say you take too many risks for a village that can't tell right from wrong anymore. That's my opinion, anyway. I know it's not your fault. It just frustrates me that all of these years a compassionate and gifted woman such as yourself has been roped into fighting pointless battles._

The tea kettle began to whistle and Kuina stood and shut the flame off. She poured the boiling water over her mug of tea leaves before she proceeded.

_You ought to live in a village that has more to offer you. Maybe it's too late for me to suggest this, but try to remember your mom's girl, little Kushina, who lives in the Leaf Village. You can be successful there, I mean, it is the first place your mom ran to when things got bad. I know those Uzumaki people think they're so clever and funny, what with naming their kids to sound alike. Her brothers were named Tenji and Renji, and so then she has you after her eldest daughter and that idea got into her head after a few drinks. Your mom thought she was being so original._

Kuina laughed very hard. He had probably ended up with her mother only because of her sense of humor. It had been a very brief, very loud relationship.

_Well, the point is you deserve a good life and happiness. I'm not sure you can have that anywhere around here. It sounds to me from your last letter that you are going through standard war bullshit. I just want things to work out for you because you're the only kid I've got, and you're the best there ever was. I know you serve the public and all, but don't forget to take care of yourself and do what's right for you. Hang in there Kuina, and I hope to hear from you again soon._

_Endless love, Dad_

_Also, try to visit me soon, missy, because old guys like me die eventually! I'm serious!_

She set the paper down and sighed. Oh, how she loved her father. Even though things had not worked out between him and her mother, somehow she had never felt badly about it. His love had always filled her up and inspired her.  _'How many men could do a good job raising a daughter all by themselves?'_ He had done it and done it brilliantly.

Kuina had never known her mother personally. She had been a baby when her mother and older sister left. The persecution of those who had survived the destruction of the Hidden Eddy Village had driven them far and wide until they finally disappeared. Some had found new homes. Others had not. She could not say that she knew what it was like. She had grown up under the protection of the Mist Village.

Sipping her tea slowly she watched her hamster gradually envelope a seed in his mouth. His dark eyes stared ahead unseeing, caring only about savoring his food. His cheeks were inflated with sunflower seeds. Kuina wondered if he ate most of the seeds after he was tucked in the safety of his bedding. After having his fill of seeds (which was the whole pile) her fat-cheeked friend waddled across the table to her letter and chewed at it.

' _Dad…I do have a good life here. I am happy…somehow it happened.'_ Kuina thought as she took the paper away from her pet,  _'I have a great man to love, wonderful friends, and a high-paying job. Mist…really isn't so bad.'_

She picked up her rambunctious hamster before he wandered off the edge of the table. Kuina set him down in his cage before finishing the last of her tea. She shut the window and looked down at the streets below. People walked the streets with their heads tucked and steps brisk in the cold.

Life was not good for everyone around here. The end of the war would not mean immediate prosperity, but it definitely  _would_  be a far cry from what the people of the Land of Water had been putting up with for the past few years. It would be easier to visit her father then. Kamisori would not have to lead a double life. Guo could put more time into his studies.

' _I wonder if the Leaf Village is any better than the Mist Village...'_ She turned the lights off with the exception of one lamp, for Kamisori, and then went to her bedroom.  _'From what I heard, Kushina had her share of problems there too. I guess that no matter where you are, all you can do is try to make a name for yourself.'_ She slipped into bed, deciding that in reality all villages faced hardships.

Outside, beyond the shops and frigid streets, from the roof of an office building, Kamisori could see a light through the window of Kuina's apartment.


	7. Fight Culture

"I already said that I don't know where he is."

"Momochi-san, I was told you were the last person to be in contact with Shon before his capture."

"Exactly." Zabuza replied bluntly.

Kyonjin frowned, "Yes…so you are telling me that Shon did not communicate any of his plans to you?"

"He's the kind of a person who does things without planning first," Zabuza answered, knowing it was a downright lie, "Even if he knew what the hell he was doing, he wouldn't tell me."

The Mizukage evaluated Zabuza from his desk, his lips pursed in aggravation. Eventually he sighed, "Fair enough…"

He sensed that maybe Zabuza did know something, but there was no way to be sure if Shon was alive currently. Despite Hayago's report and the evidence gathered showing a high death toll, it seemed suspicious that Shon had not been spotted. Zabuza was not going to be the one to provide him with proof one way or the other.

Without warning, Rama entered the office, bowing swiftly before speaking, "Mizukage-sama, both of the trackers that Hayago deployed to follow the Kaguya survivors were just found dead beyond the village limits! Hayago is investigating it now, but he believes they may intend to enter Mist for revenge."

"Is that so?" Kyonjin was not pleased, "Send word to border patrols to keep watch for them. All available C-group jounin are to report to Hayago immediately. They won't set foot in Kirigakure on my watch…"

"Yes, sir!" Rama nodded and set out quickly.

The Mizukage turned back to Zabuza, "Should the last of those brutes enter the village, I expect you to help wipe them out. Until then, I leave it to you to discover what happened to Kaguya Shon. If he is alive, I expect you to return him to village…if he refuses, kill him."

"Yes, Mizukage-sama."

"Very good, you are dismissed."

Zabuza gladly took his leave.

It just never ended. Rebels trying to enter the village? Kill them. Former ally trying to abandon Mist during a war? Make sure he dies too. Kyonjin expected him to mop up after just about everything.

From his point of view, Shon was more or less harmless,  _'He's a hippie. He's going to sit around, smoke, and admire nature if he has free time.'_ The likelihood of the last of the Kaguya surviving, he believed, was damn near close to zero. With Abe Higashikuni guarding the outer limits of the village, they were likely to sustain terrible causalities if they came too close.

Kyonjin just wanted to keep him busy to prevent him from plotting an uprising. Too bad that wasn't going to stop him.

It was meaningless drivel like this that made Zabuza weigh the pros and cons of leaving Mist.

He mulled it over again as he passed through the office district, entering a forested area within the city limits. It was a training ground he used whenever there was a chance he would be on call for a mission. As much as he hated Kyonjin, he had to be available or risk the contempt of the village leader once again.

Zabuza let the Seversword sit idly beside the trunk of an oak. He relaxed before proceeding with Chin Na forms, letting muscle memory take over while his thoughts roamed.

With Kyonjin being a controlling, socially inept leader, it made sense to accuse him of manipulating the Chief Medic and other gifted shinobi with or without Kekkei Genkai.  _'He has the Chief sealing all of his problems away, and blood limit turncoats at his beck and call…he never has to get his hands dirty again…'_

It was rumored that Kyonjin had a Kekkei Genkai himself, however it was still unconfirmed. The last time he had entered battle was…no one really knew. What was certain was that Kyonjin was powerful, but was even more so a great coward. He had no allies, which was the reason he dissolved the Seven Swords for fear of being outnumbered.  _'He never would have been a match for us, and he knew it.'_

Zabuza concluded that Kyonjin lacked the ambition that others, like himself, possessed. Nearly all of his actions were dictated by fear. It was a strange thing that he had come to power in the first place.

The Mizukage had also served as his personal critique, though Zabuza hated to admit. Many times he had been told by his superiors that though he desired to be the strongest, he did not have a legitimate reason.

"Caring only for yourself is not a purpose, Zabuza." Shon had told him. He couldn't stand it when people told him he had no purpose. Was seeing others fuck up in Mist not reason enough? He could do it better, in his humble opinion.

Shon had also mentioned that nearly all of the current members of the Swords had plenty to live for, even the young prodigy, Mangetsu. They all had some kind of genuine motivation.

"Zabuza, you may want to  _change_ the Mist village, but you just don't know how to  _care_ for it."

' _Damn that hippie.'_ It was completely true, and he had never denied it. The action of  _caring_ was something Zabuza was sure he had not done, even scarcely before his parents had been killed when he was small.

Zabuza paused, shifting his stance before continuing with his forms.

He did consider that being alone, as he had been for all of his life, did limit his understanding of people. As acute as his perception was, his cynical attitude often kept him from seeing that thing people called "the bright side".

' _I have no patience for that shit.'_ No worthwhile person had turned up yet. Life was not a positive or fair experience; it was brutal and mathematically supported. On the average people were liars, cowards, and egomaniacs. That was just how it was. Then again, he was a homegrown Mist shinobi who had never really gotten out to see the world.

The Water Country's fight culture was all he knew.

' _So fuck it.'_ He thought,  _'I don't need anyone.'_

Zabuza had learned some things. His former comrades from the Swords had moved on. They had reasons to do so. Where he had gotten stuck, this "limbo" of servitude to the Mizukage, was not where he wanted to be. Additionally, Kyonjin's paranoid behavior had taught him that continuously killing did not get one ahead in life. It just made you look bad.

If he ever hoped to get out of his current situation, he needed to do something. It had to be soon.

Exhaling, Zabuza ended his forms and then retrieved the Seversword. The snapping of twigs caught his attention.

Passing by a few meters ahead were the Kaguya stragglers. They did not even notice Zabuza staring from his place in the underbrush. The group moved quickly, having entered the village undetected, or at least they had been able to kill whoever was in their way.

It was then Zabuza had a twinge of that "caring" thing. It was more like a "help the village because I can" or "might as well" sort of feeling. He took off in silence, ready to alert Mist to the threat.

* * *

The work day dragged on sluggishly. Kuina had only briefly spoken to Kyonjin before returning to her duties at the hospital, and he had been terribly moody,  _'Though…he isn't the most cheerful man in Mist, that's for sure…'_

She had only requested a low level mission, possibly with genin who were interested in beginning medic training. He had flat-out rejected her request and sent her on her way. Rather than take offense to her speedy discharge from his office, Kuina stopped by the post office to drop off her reply to her father.

"It could take a while to get it to the coast…" The courier admitted contritely, "But we  _will_ deliver it for you, Arashino-san."

She thanked the mail attendant before crossing the main intersection back to the hospital. The village had an odd buzz about it. Earlier she had crossed paths with Hayago but he had been too busy to chat,  _'Something tells me it has to do with Kyonjin-sama's nasty mood before…everyone is restless…'_

Three new patients were whisked into the lobby as Kuina entered, and she stopped at the white board to look over the chart. There was no doubt her interns would take care of the injured shinobi who had come in. Other than that, the chart scheduled a few routine operations, one of which she would oversee that evening. It looked like a very manageable chart today.

"First things first…" She muttered, picking up her clip board, "Check A-wing, find Taki, confirm the date of that clinical trial…and then…" She scratched her head, then set off down the hallway scribbling notes to herself.

After an uneventful trip up and down the length of the A-wing and reprimanding Taki, her useless subordinate, she had reached the lobby again. Kuina glanced at the digital clock on the front desk: 10:00AM.  _'Gosh…my sleep routine must be waaaay off…'_

It was then Nago appeared, taking long strides from the sliding doors with Sashayma tucked in her arms. Kuina made eye contact with her and slowly set her clipboard down. Nago was silent.

Kuina stretched her arms and took the trembling girl from Nago, her expression wracked with concern, "Nago…" The question in her eyes went unacknowledged by the other kunoichi.

"Please take care of her." Her friend said, and then she promptly rushed out.

The Chief Medic sat the quaking girl down on a gurney, taking in her disheveled appearance. She held Sashayma gently by the shoulders and spoke softly, "Sashayma, what on earth happened?"

"That man…Iori…" The girl managed to speak between sobs, "He did it just so…Nago w-would…fight him." She inhaled sharply, "I t-tried t-to get him off of me…b-but he attacked me w-when my shift ended…"

Kuina stared dumbly at her friend. The disbelief of the situation rooted her to the spot. How could something like this happen to one of her closest friends?  _'That man actually thinks he can get away with assaulting someone? And only to infuriate Nago, no less!'_

"Okay…" She said quietly, holding the girl for a moment.

Sashayma continued to weep while Kuina shouted orders to a nearby nurse. When she spotted Guo she practically shrieked his name while waving him over. The young man quickly determined what was going on even without his superior's explanation.

"I'll have her examined and taken care of right away." Guo said, motioning for Sashayma to stay on the gurney so that he could relocate her.

"Kuina! Please!" Sashayma reached out and held onto the Chief Medic's arm, "Stop Nago before they f-fight! She won't listen to anyone else!"

Kuina nodded gravely, "I will."

It had already begun. She needed only to follow civilians on the street who were watching the scuffle from a distance. The irate woman exchanged furious blows with the Hunter-nin captain atop a vacant building. Fighting for Sashayma's honor would lure Nago to use her most powerful techniques. Pipelines along the street had raised and burst; evidence that jutsu were being used.

"Back! Get back, all of you!" Kuina warned onlookers to stay as far away as possible from the fight. She leapt up to a fire escape and ascended, hoping the combatants would not notice her.

Nago's water clones circled Iori on the rooftop, stalling in preparation for a powerful water jutsu. With no warning, Iori summoned from a scroll, and he lashed out with a barbed-wire whip that shredded each replication. He laughed, charging towards the kunoichi as he swung, but ran headlong into a flying-kick.

Most of the man's front teeth were knocked out, and as his whip coiled down Nago dodged it, rolling in a whirlwind of dark hair. She hurled a storm of shuriken a fraction too late, only hitting a substitute, and by the time she stood again Iori landed a brutal kick on her flank.

From an adjacent rooftop, Kuina watched in horror as Nago was flung from the top of the tall building.

As if his counter was not enough, Iori completed another technique, his words slurred with blood, "Suiton: Mizurampa!"

The violent water jutsu blasted the kunoichi downward, whirling through six awnings, several clotheslines, a small billboard, and then finally the concrete.

Screaming, Kuina tackled Iori from behind, plunging him down a slanted roof on the left. They fell a long way, but the remaining clotheslines and wires slowed their descent, and they landed on their feet on the sidewalk below.

All of her training with Kamisori kicked into overdrive, and Kuina dove into close-quarters with the brute, fueled entirely by rage.

Dizzy, Iori managed to gain his footing and block her swift strikes, although one punch broke his guard and finally sent him tumbling. He fell, slipping on garments that had drifted down onto the street. Kuina leapt with a kunai in hand, intending to jam it in his forehead.

He tumbled away, swinging the whip again and snared Kuina's forearms in the hooked barbs. She howled in excruciation, realizing that the metal was heated and was burning into her flesh.

On reflex she produced a chakra chain from her body and hurled it, snagging her enemy's feet. Iori tripped again, his ankles hog-tied, and his chakra siphoned away as Kuina wriggled free from the hideous barbed-whip. Before he could swing again a water clone landed a relentless pile-drive on his stomach, and his wail of agony followed before the replication splashed away.

They separated, dragging themselves to their feet while forming hand signs. Kuina kept Iori ensnared in her chain, and when they did launch water techniques at each other Iori's jutsu pittered out, lacking energy. She connected solidly with a Water Dragon Blast and watched as he flew into a newsstand and crushed it, released from her chain.

Absorbing it back into her body Kuina fell to her knees, whimpering. Her arms bled and burned. She hastily healed herself, knowing that her opponent may or may not have been down for the count. Across the way she saw Yagura rush across the street, and he seemed to be aware that Iori was at fault.

The young jinchuriki pummeled the beaten man with his staff.

' _That'll keep him down…'_ Kuina's thoughts slowly flowed again, and she stood on wobbly legs before finding the place where Nago had fallen.

Nago lay crumpled on a shattered section of sidewalk. Kuina kneeled beside her and brushed the hair from her face, "Nago!"

The woman's eyes fluttered, barely capable of responding. A few of her fingers twitched.

Kuina looked over her friend, checking her neck first and then proceeded downward. It was just as bad as she had feared.

The woman's back had been broken in several places.

"Shit!" Kuina hissed, feeling the hot tears begin to roll down her cheeks. What an absolute waste it had been, letting that man goad them into action!

Upon further inspection Kuina found evidence of internal injuries, but miraculously Nago opened her eyes and began to speak.

"Sashayma?"

"It's me, Kuina. I promise Sashayma will be okay."

Kuina focused on the internal injuries first, precision-pointing a green beam of chakra into her friend's abdomen. The damage was extensive, and sensing the area more thoroughly Kuina began to panic, realizing that no amount of her own energy could undo the numerous injuries Nago had. The woman was slipping away.

"No…not today you don't…" Kuina cried, wiping her eyes on her shoulder as she worked, trying to see what she was doing.

"I…can't believe…we'll spend…our entire lives…fighting." Nago rasped, her eyes staring upward.

"You won't!" Kuina objected, "There's more in store for you! Don't get all transcendental on me!"

"There's nothing…in store…"

"Nago!"

People on the street gathered, one of whom happened to be a doctor. He asked Kuina to let him stay and honor the fallen kunoichi. Another man said a blessing as Nago died, bowing his head solemnly. Women watched with disturbed expressions, considering that the senseless act of violence reflected all too clearly what was thought of their sex in Mist.

Kuina stood again. Her head felt foggy and seemed to float above her shoulders. Her friends had suffered so much in such a short span of time. The town clock on the corner read 10:34. The doctor marked it as the time of death.

Shaking, Kuina turned to look over at the ruined newsstand where Yagura stood. He had beaten Iori into complete submission. They locked eyes. Her pain was communicated instantly to the young man and his gaze strayed to the fallen woman across the road. She had passed.  _'This man will be tried severely for his actions.'_ Yagura thought to himself. He was surprised when Kuina called out to him.

"Yagura, hit him."

He gave the Chief Medic a confused look. He then kicked the kneeling man in the gut, watching him crumple over once again.

Aggression surged in the kunoichi, and she closed the distance between her and the scoundrel. She looked briefly at Yagura, "You don't hit hard enough!"

Her fists came down on the crippled Black Ops captain, savagely thrashing the pathetic man in front of the crowd that had gathered. Yagura merely watched, thinking that it was best to let her proceed to make an example of the man.

By the time Hayago had appeared to restrain her, Iori was beaten beyond recognition. Kuina's hands were sticky with blood, and she looked at Hayago with wild eyes. He stared into them, and his deep voice retrieved her from her rage, "Enough Kuina, this isn't who you are."

She eventually became still again, letting Hayago lead her away from the scene by her upper arm. The captain barked orders at gathering chunin, one of whom helped Yagura drag Iori to the administration building for investigation.

Hayago sat Kuina down on a bench and then Guo appeared, and after a brief exchange with Hayago he began to heal the Chief Medic. She covered her face with her hands as she cried, "What are you doing here?"

"I was sent here to help! Your friend is going to be okay."

"No…but I…let Nago die. I couldn't do what Sashayma asked me…" She wept.

Guo's chakra swept over her arms again, mending the wire gashes that had not completely healed, despite her earlier effort. He ran his fingers over the cuts on her cheek, sealing them with care. Guo took a seat beside her on the bench and continued to look for wounds. He was just as upset as his superior.

"Senpai," He said, "None of this is your fault, you know."

Through clouded vision Kuina watched as the good doctor and other civilians carefully moved Nago's body. Hayago walked with them, leading the way to the hospital.

When he could find no more injuries Guo patted Kuina's back, helping her settle down. A short time later she got a hold of herself, "Guo?"

"Yes?"

"Go to the hospital and ask Hayago to meet me at the Mizukage's office."

"Are you sure you want to go there?"

"Yes, there's no way I am letting that degenerate try to beg Kyonjin-sama for mercy."

* * *

Kyonjin's hollering reverberated off the walls in the Administration Building.

"I have a report from Momochi-san indicating that what remains of the Kaguya clan is attacking our village at this very moment! Were you aware of that?" The Mizukage loomed over Iori, who was on his knees and being restrained by Yagura, "NO. Of course you weren't! You have been suspended from missions for weeks, you walk around drunk in broad daylight, and now you are responsible for the baseless rape and killing of women!"

The whole room flinched.

"YOU ARE THROUGH! You've had a third, and fourth chance already, Iori, yet you are no better than rebel trash!" Kyonjin gestured for the door, "Get him out of my sight!"

Two guards toted Iori out while Yagura, Hayago and Kuina remained in the office, waiting for the Mizukage to catch his breath. He slammed his hands on the hard wood of his desk, muttering furiously, and then reached into a drawer to get his cigarettes.

Kyonjin looked back to the shinobi who were scrutinizing him. He smirked as he spoke, "We are under attack, you know. And that? That was supposed to be one of Mist's elite?" He lit a cigarette in one practiced motion and began to suck the smoke down. He closed his eyes and exhaled, at last able to calm down.

"Iori was an incompetent, selfish captain from day one." Hayago observed, "This incident could have been prevented."

"Indeed it could have been prevented…" Kyonjin agreed, "The loss of a kunoichi like Nago will affect this village. Our female shinobi are so few and so valuable…something like this can never happen again."

"I want Iori punished to the greatest extent possible." Kuina added, her wrath still pricking at the edge of her calm façade.

The Mizukage smoked the cig down to its filter and then lit another. He took a drag before saying, "All in due course, Kuina. Process first, punishment later. He will pay dearly for this; I will see to it myself."

It had been the first thing Kyonjin had said in a long while that she was happy with.

"Now, I would appreciate it if you return to the hospital to look after yourself and your patients." He nodded at Kuina, and then looked to the men, "I expect both of you to help Zabuza crush the last of the Kaguya near the gate."

"Understood." Hayago affirmed.

The two were kind enough to drop Kuina off at the hospital before going to squash the last of the rebellion. Kuina trudged into the building,  _'And…here I am again…'_ She walked up to the front desk and checked the clipboard. Sashayma's room number was most recently added.

A jounin popped into the lobby to inform people to stay indoors until "the threat was neutralized". She then tottered off down the corridor, numb, and entered the room she had looked up. There she found Sashayma crying again and a nurse was with her, holding a tissue box for her.

"It's alright. I'll stay with her for now." Kuina offered.

"Are you sure you'll be alright, ma'am?"

"Positive."

The nurse nodded and then left the room. Kuina sat down on the rolling chair and held the box for her friend. Sashayma knew how it had ended.

"I'm sorry that this happened to you."

Sashayma dabbed at her eyes. Her face was scarlet; her lips dry and cracked from the tears.

"It happened to you too, Kuina."

* * *

"Thank you for promptly locating and exterminating the Kaguya, Momochi-san." Kyonjin felt a great deal of relief that something had actually been accomplished, "I have one last task for you."

"What might that be?"

"If you will follow Hayago to the disciplinary hold, I need you to execute a former Black Ops captain of mine. Beheading will suffice, and the area has been marked off for you and a witness."

Zabuza was, for once, surprised, "Right now? Which one?"

"Iori."

That was less surprising.

"What did he do?"

"Assault and murder of kunoichi, among other things." Kyonjin replied, "I would appreciate it if you rid our village of him."

Even in his book, such a thing was unacceptable. The fucker's time had come.

"Consider it done."

* * *

Kuina laid in bed for days without eating or drinking. Even though Iori had quickly been brought to justice, living with the pain seemed much harder than dying in consequence.

Kamisori went to great lengths to get food and water in her system, however she barely cooperated. Sitting upright in bed she withered, even with her pet hamster keeping her company. She would only be her normal, balanced self for a short while before reverting back into her depressed, contemplative state.

"I should have been there for my friends." She lamented, "If I had known they were being harassed for a week before all of this, I would have intervened."

"You can't change it." Kamisori pointed out, "They did not come to you for help when they should have. You did what you could, so none of this is on you."

He sat on the edge of the bed, spoon-feeding her small amounts of oatmeal. Very slowly, her strength and will began to return. Talking, he supposed, was the only way she was going to deal with the trauma.

Each at different times, Guo, Hayago and even Utakata had stopped by to cheer her up. For once Kamisori was glad that they cared greatly for Kuina, knowing that as friends they would find a way to help her recover.

Guo had assured her that he was looking after Sashayma, who was also steadily improving. He then invited Kuina to attend a genin seminar that was coming up, "I was hoping that you would stop by and explain the role of medic nin and their work. You said you always wanted to do something like that…"

"I would like to go." Kuina affirmed.

On his way out of the apartment, Guo thanked Kamisori, "Initially I thought you were trouble, but…you turned out to be just who she needed."

"I appreciate it." Kamisori thanked the young medic, who he decided was not so bad himself.

Gradually, Kuina showed signs of improvement. She would bathe herself and move around the apartment. She thanked Kamisori for his patience. With time she was fully functioning once again, and scheduling her shifts at the hospital. Business seemed to resume as usual, but the memory of what had happened lingered in the back of her mind.

One night over dinner Kamisori sat across from Kuina at the table, over a meal she had cooked, and nearly bored a hole into her head with his sapphire gaze.

"Um…" She was a bit unsettled, "Is there anything you want to tell me, Sori?"

"I want to ask you something."

"Ah, well, go ahead."

"Has this incident made you give up on your optimism?"

She frowned slightly, "Will you stop dating me if I say yes?"

"I won't do such a thing."

Kuina sighed, "Truthfully…I think it has. It's been a wakeup call. I have been playing the fool thinking that life is so sweet here in Mist. There's just…no way to secure happiness in this village."

"But I make you happy, don't I?"

"Yes, of course you do!" Kuina responded, sticking her chopsticks vertically into her bowl of rice, "But…I might…lose you too."

Kamisori's expression softened, "No you won't, Kuina."

Her brows furrowed and her mouth quivered with grief. She stared down at the dishes on the table, her eyes not seeing for the moment. The inner conflict was bubbling up again. He hated to see her so sad, and more so, to see her struggle to contain the pain while putting on a brave face.

Kamisori reached across the table and ever so gently lifted her chin. Their eyes met.

"I wasn't going to ask you so soon…"

"Ask me what?" Kuina wondered, snapping back to reality and fiddling with her chopsticks.

"What I was going to ask you in a month or so…or when you were feeling  _most_ optimistic."

Kuina rested her chin on her hands, her elbows propped up on the table, "Well, you can always give it a try…"

"I want you to marry me."

There was a silence.

Kuina's mouth formed a small o-shape and she then sucked wind through it in shock. She blinked twice very hard, confirming consciousness, and then she nodded slowly.

"Yes. Oh yeah…WOW…that  _would_ cheer me up."

Kamisori gave her a small smile, "You are sure?"

The optimism flooded back.

"I am." She grinned at him, "Even if it is a bit on the early side, I…I really couldn't be with anyone else."

Kamisori smiled back genuinely as he leaned over the table and kissed her forehead, "Neither could I."


	8. I am not an altruist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Any man may easily do harm, but not every man can do good to another. – Plato

The cold had arrived. The half-assed, transitional temperatures had given way to the stark cold and greyness of autumn.

Zabuza took a deep breath of the chilled, sea air. A harsh, northeastern wind was blowing into the village from the coast. It was his kind of weather.

It was mid-morning and he was feeling particularly lethargic. A few days earlier he had lead the charge in stomping out the last of the Kaguya clan. They had acted foolishly and made a scene near the center of the village. An abundance of high-ranking Mist shinobi had answered the call of duty and surrounded the dwindling group, engaging in a bloody but victorious battle.

He felt that the fight had been a rehash of what had happened at the Kaguya estate…yet it was stupid and an obvious waste of energy. They should have kept a low profile and attempted to assassinate Kyonjin: a more effective strategy. Even so, that plan was also not likely to succeed.

There had been no food in his apartment. He could not recall the last time he had shopped for anything. He was not sleeping well. He took too many missions. All things considered, he felt that Mist was the quintessential, soul-sucking void of ninja villages.

Knowing that, Zabuza was not sure why he had stayed.

The Mist village and its leader were certainly not motivating him (not that many things  _did)_ , and the former comrades that he still saw nowadays didn't do much for him either. He had not yet taken the step to abandon the village and strike out on his own. Part of him hoped that he would be able to accomplish something, preferably a coup, before he departed. How that was going to become a reality…he was still contemplating it.

Zabuza was on the verge of forsaking Kirigakure; he was just waiting for the proper cue.

For now, he was completing another menial task that Kyonjin had assigned: "Last night's report cited the suspected activity of the Yuki clan in a farming community…it is too close to the village for comfort. From what we know, they have not been able to extend their reach far past the coast or main lines. Investigate this, and should you encounter any of them, engage only if you feel you have the upper hand."

When Kyonjin had summoned him he was momentarily concerned he would be assigned as the replacement captain for Iori's Black Ops squad. Thankfully, the Mizukage still did not trust him as far as he could throw him, so he must have thought better of it. Zabuza would not have liked to have become responsible for a new team or the extra work that came with it.

He had entered the countryside beyond Mist, and navigated up towards the foot of the mountain. Being situated inland and at a higher elevation made it much colder here. The harvests had long since passed, so the town was inactive and silent.

At the edge of the small settlement Zabuza stored away Kubikiri Boucho. With a few hand signs he "unsummoned" the sword, making the seal on his arm tingle. The Seven Swords, since nearly the beginning of their existence, had utilized a "master scroll" to contain the blades, which was always entrusted to the leader. Choosing a leader was rather simple: whoever had equal skill with all of the weapons would keep the Master Scroll.

Though young, Mangetsu was the current keeper of the scroll. He had already mastered all of the swords, although they were not always at his disposal.  _'Not during a war…he'd be lucky to have one or two kept in there…'_

An asymmetrical seal on each swordsman was connected to the scroll, and thus could make a withdrawal if the leader was not nearby. Such a thing could become inconvenient for the leader in a time of need. But what mattered now, as a result of their disbandment, was that each individual had access. It was a relatively new concept, and the other swordsmen rarely were kind enough to let their blades be available in the Master Scroll.

Putting away the sword was the best way to keep a low profile. What few people were out on the street paid little mind to Zabuza as he passed through. He quickly began to doubt that the Yuki would have bothered with the place. The people did not  _look_ like a prestigious clan had passed through or raided…

Evidence was sorely lacking within the town, and so he took a side route along the tree-line of the surrounding forest to keep out of sight. Fields sprawled out over gently sloping hills. They were plucked bare and frost covered the ground. He passed by a field house, and no more than a mile away, he finally understood why the report had come in.

He could see it over the roof of a barn and the shed. He saw it from a  _distance._ Huge ice pillars were protruding from a residence, glinting in the grey daylight.

' _Alright…that could have been an attack. I have no fucking clue why it would happen out here…but weird shit like this has become pretty commonplace.'_ Zabuza approached the small farmhouse, not making any hasty judgments about what had happened.

He stood outside of the ruined home, scrutinizing the damage. There was no mistaking the power of the Hyoton. Residual chakra kept the pillars frozen: an indicator of recent activity. They would probably recede in a day or two. Several jutted from the roof and sides of the house, but there was no other hint that shinobi had stopped by or fought. With no signs of struggle around, the assault appeared to have been one-sided.

Zabuza circled the property, seeing nothing unusual outside of the house…inside was a different matter. Furniture was overturned and household items were strewn about the place. Blood was spattered across the wall and had dried in patches on the floor.  _'Someone must have died…but they were moved.'_ No bodies remained. Everything that was not encased in ice had been left alone.

He went outside again and took several paces away from the house. His hunch had proven correct: two small mounds of moved earth marked with stones served as graves. It had been a few days. Two people dead. No apparent reason  _why._

' _There is no way the Yuki would be responsible for this. It's pointless. If they had successfully gotten this far…they would have done something meaningful.'_ Zabuza concluded.  _'The villagers buried the farmers who lived here…'_

Though it begged the question: if the Yuki had not passed through, who the hell had used the Hyoton?

It was absolutely the work of an ice technique, which few local shinobi were able to produce. Kamisori certainly had not made his way through the farms anytime recently, as far as he knew.

Was it possible that some unknown ninja had used the technique? It was indeed possible, but only by the tiniest, most remote margin. As for whether a rebel or a Mist nin was responsible, there was no clear answer. Mist paid barely any attention to the small hamlet, let alone a particular family of  _farmers,_ for pity's sake. Even rebel shinobi groups seldom attacked defenseless civilian villages. They had no need to.

Irritated, Zabuza moved on. He stalked across the field back towards the town, his footsteps crunching lightly on the frozen topsoil. Flurries of snow began to drift down in silence.

It would be easy just to blame it on some rogue ninja or perhaps throw more dirt on the Yuki name. To explain away this bizarre occurrence would not be too difficult, and it was almost assured that when he turned in his report to Kyonjin that the Mizukage would not send anyone else to investigate the damage; he would just send shinobi out to punish whoever was blamed for the attack. Zabuza would default to one such generic explanation when he returned to Mist for a debriefing.

The insane thing was, he had a pretty clear idea of what had happened. Someone who lived with the farmers must have snapped, for one reason or another, and skewered them. The nature of the relationship to those killed was irrelevant, but he was nearly dead sure that the attacker had used the Hyoton. It had happened in a contained environment, or so it seemed.  _'How the fuck does someone who lives in a_ _ **farmhouse**_ _lash out with that kind of power? More importantly, how does no one notice? People out here are quick when it comes to ratting out those with Kekkei Genkai…'_

It was not his style to stop and ask locals what had happened. He could make a fair guess on his own. He had heard about members of gifted clans running away and assimilating with every day people.

This typically occurred when an individual was not particularly strong as a shinobi, or when the suffering became too much. Such people forsook their lineage and disappeared in order to escape persecution. It was understandable, for during wartime the proliferation of propaganda and ignorance bred fear of those who possessed blood limits. The hatred of common people and shinobi alike sometimes caused them to flee the clan homestead, hoping to find a better life. It did not always work.

' _Take this incident as an example…someone was trying to be a farmer…but couldn't hide who they really were.'_ Zabuza surmised.

While he was confident he had found the answer to this riddle, it was not guaranteed that he would find the culprit.

The snowflakes were coming down thickly. Zabuza passed through the town, returning down the road he had entered on. He was silent, staring blankly ahead as he formulated some cockamamie explanation for a mission report. From the corner of his eye, he noticed one lone soul remained out in the cold.

Seated against the railing of a bridge was a small boy. His chin was tucked to his chest and his knees pulled in close to guard against the frigid air. At first glance he appeared to be no more than a homeless scamp, but Zabuza ventured closer, and got a good look at the child.

In the back of his mind a buzzer went off. He had first assumed the Hyoton-runaway to be an adult, but after sensing the swirling energy and bleakness in the boy, he came to a new conclusion. This twerp must have attacked the farmers. He didn't care why; he just knew that it was a fact.

Zabuza chuckled lowly; stunned that a small boy could have wielded such power…on what was most likely  _instinct._ He would say it was impressive, but the boy appeared to be the complete opposite.  _'What a pitiful kid…'_

The child was dirty, his clothing tattered, and he was clearly going to die of either starvation or exposure. His power served as nothing but an excuse to kill him, as far as townspeople were concerned; so he kept to himself and did not ask for help. Like any other orphaned child he was on his own.

"A kid like you won't be needed by anyone. You'll just die a beggar, without freedom or dreams." He stated what was probably very obvious to the child, and he didn't expect to get a snappy reply either.

But he did.

"Oh." The boy looked up, evaluated the Mist shinobi with an astute gaze, and then smiled, "You have the same eyes as me."

Zabuza stared back at the boy, shocked. So there was some life in the little street urchin after all.

In fact, this kid, though plainly unwanted, had a lot of potential. He was young, perceptive, a bloodline user, and still had the will to continue even after tragedy. In most other circumstances, Zabuza would have moved on, but there was no way he could pass up an opportunity such as this.

"Do you want to come with me?"

Unflinching, unafraid, the boy said, "Yes."

"What's your name, kid?"

"Haku. What's your name, mister?"

"I'm Momochi Zabuza." He answered, watching as the boy wobbled to his feet, "We're leaving now, so you better keep up."

And then they were on their way, proceeding over the bridge and through the snowfall, with no one having witnessed the sacred new alliance that had formed.

Just outside of the town Zabuza began to realize what he had gotten himself into. By taking Haku under his wing, it meant that he would have to provide for him: keep him  _alive_. He already knew that he was not well acquainted with such a task, and the boy was in pretty bad shape.

Crossing the harvested field that stood between them and the forest beyond was proving to be a challenge for Haku. Granted that it was snowing and he was poorly dressed  **and** barefoot; his breathing was labored and shallow.

There would be no point in pushing the kid hard right out of the gate. He would expire before they reached the village, Zabuza estimated. Haku, to his credit, was able to make it a majority of the way across the clearing before finally collapsing from exhaustion. He hadn't made a peep. His system gave out and then  _whop,_ down he went.

After a moment of uncertainty, Zabuza bent and scooped the child up, folding him over his shoulder to be carried like a towel. He didn't know the proper way to carry a living person, so he improvised. Haku was cold to the touch and quaking; definitely suffering from the effects of neglect. He unhitched a small flask from his belt (only water today) and tipped it into the boy's mouth.

"When was the last time you ate or drank?"

"I don't really know…"

Zabuza sighed, acknowledging it would take way more than a drink of water to patch the kid up. He put the flagon away, adjusted the sickly bundle in his arms, and then took off with great speed. Haku watched with astonished eyes as the landscape raced by, and how they rose up and up into the trees of the forest and through the branches and nettle, where the snow had not yet reached.

While returning to Mist, Zabuza briefly tried to justify what he was doing.  _'If I do this right, this kid is going to be useful to me in many ways. No one even knows that he_ _ **exists**_ _at the moment, and if I keep it that way…'_ If the boy lived and developed and trained… _'Then I will have the force of the Hyoton at my disposal and quite a powerful shinobi as well…'_

He stopped once, alert to the sound of ninja approaching through the treetops. The silencing effect of the snowfall made every snap and crunch more noticeable in the forest. He kept out of sight for a minute, not wanting to get caught red-handed with Haku. After the Mist nin had moved on, Zabuza continued, contemplating what to do with the boy.

Once he had entered the Mist village Zabuza made sure to avoid other shinobi. He stopped in a restaurant on the outskirts and sat Haku down in a booth. He took a cloth napkin and dried the boy's wet head, wondering if it would make him stop shivering. They ate several orders of barbecue and Haku gradually began to perk up. The kid had a healthy appetite, and he ate until all of the dishes on the table were empty. He didn't ask for any more than what had been provided. He smiled contentedly, thanking Zabuza.

Afterward, as inconspicuously as possible, Zabuza headed to the hospital with his charge. He did not wait in the lobby for very long before the Chief Medic's apprentice, Guo, stopped and asked if they were being helped.

"Take a look at this kid for me, will you?"

Surprise did not fully capture what Guo felt in that moment; it was really bewilderment and disbelief peppered with suspicion, worry, and a bit of approval.

"Well of course, Momochi-san. Right this way…"

Guo kept his alarm to himself. Zabuza stood out like a sore thumb in the hospital. It was probably the first time he had  _ever_  stopped by; not to mention that he had a child with him!

Zabuza followed Guo to an examination room and settled Haku down on a cushioned table. The boy slid tiredly from his arms, but he had enough energy to sit up on his own. The medic nin set straight to work, but decided to be careful of the questions he asked,  _'From what I can tell, Zabuza doesn't want me to draw attention to this child, or that he_ _ **has**_ _a child in his care…'_

"Okay, so what's your name, kiddo?"

"Haku."

"And your family name?"

"It's just Haku."

"Ah," Guo scribbled down a few things on the clipboard his boss often used, "That's okay, no problem…Haku…"

The medic glanced over to Zabuza who was watching him with venomous eyes.

"A-herm!" Guo cleared his throat a bit, "For the record, what I am writing down is only going to help me evaluate Haku. None of this is going to be kept on file because, well, you have not indicated to me that he should be… _recognized_ by this hospital…am I correct?"

"Very correct."

"Just checking…" Guo muttered, turning back to Haku, "Alright little guy, follow the light please." He waved a small pocket flashlight in front of the boy's eyes, which were healthy and keen, "Good! Now open up and say  _ahh,_ just for a second…there we go! Okay…"

Zabuza stood off to the side of his room, his arms folded, and he watched as Guo ran various tests; blood pressure, reflexes, and hearing looked to be intact.

"I take it you don't want me to collect a blood sample, do you?"

"No."

"I thought so, but Momochi-san you should be aware that I can check for several serious diseases in only a few-"

"You're not taking his blood." Zabuza said simply,  _'Like hell he is…then he'd check for anything he has in common with bloodline trait families or some other tipoff…'_

"Alright, alright…" Guo shrugged it off, continuing with other simple tests.

Haku complied politely and watched interestedly as the medic recorded information.

"What are you doing, mister?"

"I'm just evaluating how healthy you are right now, Haku."

"So you're a doctor?"

"Yes, I am. I'm a medic-nin actually, so my patients are typically shinobi." He smiled, "And I get the feeling you are going to be one someday…"

Zabuza growled from his place by the wall. Guo took the hint.

"Well…Haku is malnourished and has a weak immune system." Guo reported at length, pulling the sheet from the clipboard. He crumpled it and threw it in the trash-bin before adding, "However his teeth are coming in perfectly for an 8-year-old, and his eyesight and hearing are quite sharp. He doesn't  _seem_ to have any serious illnesses, but I recommend that you get him checked later to be sure."

"Sure."

That was a good sign. Zabuza would indeed confirm whether or not the boy had any life-threatening condition; he just didn't want the hospital to be aware of it.

Guo riffled around through a cupboard in the room and huffed in aggravation. He asked Zabuza to wait before he exited the room. He returned a few beats later and handed a plastic container to Zabuza, "These are vitamins; he could really use these. They will help him catch up to the nutrition level he needs."

Zabuza gave a slight nod.

"And I would suggest bathing him too…"

He received a glare for that comment, so once again he swallowed his opinions. Guo knew better than to ask where the child came from (he would guess kidnapping before parenthood, Haku was just too… _delicate_ ), and he also knew that divulging any information about what had just happened would incite Zabuza to gank him.

Guo assured Zabuza that he would not speak of their encounter, and expressed how glad he was that Zabuza was looking after Haku,  _'It was good that he brought the boy here. Haku wouldn't have been able to recover as quickly on rest and meals alone…'_

The swordsman felt there was no need to threaten Guo. The medic already understood the implications of possessing such sensitive information. He did not thank Guo, but Haku did with a sweet face, "Thank you, mister!" and in a blink the two made their way out.

Guo stood in the doorway of the examination room, tapping the clipboard anxiously over his head. He got the feeling that the boy possibly had some special ability, because it was not likely Zabuza would pick up a youngster who would not pull his own weight someday. Being prohibited from taking Haku's blood also supported his theory.

' _Oh man…I really feel like I should tell someone…Kuina-senpai can keep this low-profile, I bet.'_

* * *

It was a surreal feeling to watch the small boy walk around his apartment. Haku looked around curiously, noting the many differences between the new place and his former residence.

"So you live here, Zabuza-san?"

"For now, yeah." Zabuza opened the jar of vitamins, "Here, hold out your hand."

Haku held his hand palm up and Zabuza dropped a chalky tablet into it. "Chew and swallow that." The man said, "You're going to need a lot of these to get back on track."

"These are going to help me get better?" Haku inspected the capsule before popping it into his mouth. He made short work of it, and then asked, "Should I have another later?"

"Yeah, just don't overdo it. Come over here." Zabuza lead the way to the bathroom. It was unadorned but at least it was clean. Haku stepped into it and marveled at the tiles and mirror. He had only ever used an outhouse. A towel, a washcloth and a bar of soap were fetched from the closet and set aside for the boy.

"You know how to bathe yourself?"

"Of course I can!" This elicited a smile from the boy, as if Zabuza had asked a silly question.

Just by watching Haku, Zabuza got an idea of how intellectually advanced he was for a child. He may have lived on a farm up until now, but he was a quick thinker. After studying the knobs in the shower for a few moments, the boy worked it out, and it turned on without difficulty. Seeing that Haku could function well enough on his own, Zabuza went to his bedroom.

It was still dawning on him how unusual the situation was.  _'If this kid lives, and he's better adapted to do that than most kids his age, I'll be training him for years.'_ Zabuza thought,  _'Living in Mist is going to become a problem. I won't register him. If I did, the Mizukage would turn him into another loyalist minion…'_

It was hard enough sneaking around so that no one would notice Haku, but trying to live within the village was going to become dangerous. He was going to have to come up with a solution soon.

He retrieved a large, baggy t-shirt from a chest of drawers. This would have to do until he could get his hands on new clothing for Haku. After the boy had washed up, he put the shirt on and took a seat on the couch where Zabuza told him to wait.

Zabuza ventured out, trying to remember where people would typically by clothes. On the main avenue there was a family clothing store that kept its  _open_  sign in the window despite the poor economy. When he entered, the shopkeeper looked up from behind the register and gulped in fright. He stared down at his magazine, hoping that if he ignored the shinobi that he would eventually leave. Zabuza stalked about the rows of clothing, resembling a shark in a pond of fish.

He picked up several outfits that were simple and suitable for the boy's training. Thoughtful, he also picked up a bag and shoes for Haku. He was not going to bother paying for anything. Not harming the store owner was going to be payment enough. The terrified man kept his face hidden behind the magazine as Zabuza made his way out.

When he returned, Haku happily accepted the new clothing, "Thank you, Zabuza-san!"

Zabuza thought little of it. It was a simple necessity that Haku would eventually take care of himself. Haku left to change, and reappeared dressed in a blue gi and black pants. He had put the other clothes away in the backpack he was given. His hair was clean and brushed, and he at last looked as presentable as he probably did before his homelessness.

It was then Zabuza noticed it.

Haku's dark hair framed his face down to his shoulders. His intelligent eyes were honey-brown and scanned each new environment effectively. Alabaster skin and a refined demeanor, despite an agricultural upbringing…he was the stereotypical Yuki. Zabuza had known that Kamisori had always looked more like his mother, a Kaguya: white-haired and mismatched.

Haku took after the true noble-blood of the clan, similar to how Lord Jinsong and the prince looked. Not that Zabuza had seen any of them in person, but the records of Yuki targets in the rebel bingo book had photographs to which Haku bore a striking resemblance. Accordingly, keeping Haku away from Mist shinobi was imperative, lest they mistake him for a Yuki rebel.

The boy set his bag down on the couch where Zabuza sat. He then went to the kitchen, pulled a chair from the table up to the counter, and stood on it to reach the sink. Without needing to be asked, he began to wash dirty dishes. Not sure what to make of the strange behavior, Zabuza spoke up, "Stop that."

Haku turned and looked back at the man, puzzled, "They were here so I thought-"

"No. Unless I ask you to do something, you don't need to do anything." Zabuza informed him. Working on a farm must have meant Haku as often kept busy. Such a trait probably wasn't a bad thing, but it was unnecessary while his health was currently compromised.

Haku nodded and set the dishes back down, and moved the chair to its original place. He did pick up a newspaper on the table and ask, "May I read this?"

The man quirked an eyebrow, not having expected Haku to be able to read, "Sure."

Haku sat at the table and settled down, glancing over the pages. He propped up his chin on his hands while he read quietly.  _'I don't know if I was even able to read at his age.'_ Zabuza thought, acknowledging how his education had been delayed in favor of survival. Few kids these days could read if they had not studied at the Academy first. It would absolutely be worthwhile to train Haku, knowing how bright he was.

Now he had to think about food. He would need to start keeping some around the place to make sure the kid was few while he was gone. He would need a place to sleep too,  _'I need to find a place to train him that won't attract any attention…'_

"Zabuza-san?" Haku was looking up from the paper.

"What?"

"Will I get into trouble now that I'm in the Mist Village?" The boy must have picked up on Zabuza not wanting him to be seen.

"If you do as I say no harm will come to you."

"But my father…he told other people about me before he…tried to kill me…" Haku's voice quivered, "And I…won't I be punished for what I did?"

He knew all too well about the persecution of people with Kekkei Genkai. Even if he didn't understand why it was such a problem, he had already bore the brunt of senseless violence.

"No, that's not gonna happen." Zabuza looked over to Haku, "What you did is something the rebels will be blamed for. No one is going to suspect you."

Haku looked uncertain. He still did not grasp that he was the least of Mist's problems at the moment.

The man sighed, "Let me tell you how things work around here…"


	9. Atypical love

Zabuza awoke. Slowly he sat up in bed, groggy with sleep and stiffness. Beyond the eastward-facing window of his bedroom were the dim silhouettes of buildings, barely visible in the predawn hours.

He groaned lowly and rubbed his face from forehead to chin with rough hands. A hint of stubble was forming along his jaw. Oh...he had dreamed something very farfetched.

Atop the chest of drawers beside the bed sat the bottle of vitamins he had gotten for Haku at the hospital. His eyes widened just a fraction, processing the information. Well then. It had not been a dream. Haku was truly with him. The responsibility was real.

After a few moments his eyes adjusted to the dark and Zabuza stood, picked up the bottle of tablets, and then proceeded with drooping shoulders and a dry mouth to the kitchen.

He passed through the living area into the dinette and filled a glass with water at the sink. He gulped it down and then refilled it. In silence he looked over to Haku on the couch, who was still slumbering.

The boy was curled into a ball beneath a blanket and had a throw pillow nestled beneath his cheek. He had been desperate for sleep the day before; Haku had tired soon after getting settled in Zabuza's apartment. He made a space for himself on the couch, a bit incredulously at first (he had never seen one before) and then promptly passed out. Zabuza imagined it was the first time he had ever been able to sleep comfortably.

His eyes lingered on Haku for a while. He was unsure of how to feel about the boy, or about the precarious situation of raising and training a child in secret within the village. It would be a challenge, but if Haku lived up to the potential Zabuza had seen in him, the risk would have been worth taking.

Zabuza was still too exhausted to contemplate it. He gulped down his water again and refilled the glass for the last time. He set the vitamin bottle down on the kitchen table and then returned to his bedroom.

* * *

When he woke next the sun had crept over the horizon.

He found Haku wide awake, sweeping the cheap, laminate-wood floors in the living area. Having lived his life on a farm it was only natural for him to wake up at dawn. Haku went about his task diligently, with short, practiced strokes. Zabuza, nonplused, looked over to the windows where a rag and bottle of cleaner he never knew he owned sat on the sill. The glass was clean and light was pouring into the room. It was the first recorded instance of maintenance his apartment had ever known.

"Stop," Zabuza commanded, gesturing to what Haku was doing, "Just stop now."

Haku looked up brightly, "Good morning, Zabuza-san!"

"Uh, yeah, morning…" He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"I thought it would be good to clean this place up." Haku said, "Its condition was what my mother would call…unacceptable."

"That's how men usually live, kid. You are going to need to get used to it."

Haku frowned, "You have a nice home, Zabuza-san. Why not take care of it?"

' _ **This**_ _place is hardly the nicest apartment in Mist.'_ Zabuza did not speak the comment aloud,  _'It's a shit heap and I would never waste time on it. I mean, what happens when you polish a turd? You can make it shine, but you still have a turd.'_ Still, this was not a sentiment a hard-working, appreciative, eight-year-old who had lived on a dingy farm would agree with.

"You finish up then," Zabuza conceded, acknowledging there was not a shred of harm in letting the boy clean, "I'll make us something to eat."

Haku smiled and then resumed his task. Making low, grumbling sounds of sleepiness, Zabuza stooped down and opened the refrigerator. Hot sauce and other condiments sat dejectedly on a shelf, and below was a carton of eggs, half-full, but decently fresh; the remainder of the fridge was bare. Zabuza retrieved the eggs while recalling how he had intended to get food earlier…he had just been side-tracked. Now more than ever he would have to keep food around: there was another, hungrier mouth to feed.

An old coffee-maker wheezed out a pot of coffee from old grinds. The strong aroma gradually began to revive him. He stood over the stove frying the eggs, watching curiously from the corner of his eye as Haku flitted about.

Haku was not afraid to dive into cabinets and drawers to find things. Zabuza recalled the farm house that he had investigated, and how it had been sparsely furnished (not to mention  _destroyed_ ). Haku would be sure to turn to the entire apartment upside-down before he was satisfactorily acquainted with it. He put away the items he was done with, scooped up the considerable pile of dirt and rubbish, and threw it away in the trash can- which he had also managed to locate. Sometimes even Zabuza forgot where it was.

"What is that?"

"What is what?"

"That smell! It's…" Haku inhaled and closed his eyes in an effort to identify it, "It is very strong. I've never smelled anything like it…"

"Too bad, I use this stuff to get my heart going every day. I'd probably keel over without it." Zabuza noted how his sarcasm was lost on the boy, "It's called coffee. Your parents never had it around?"

"No." There was a twinge of pain on Haku's face as he thought of his late parents, "No, nothing like that. Is it a hot drink?"

"Yeah."

"Yes, we never had  _coffee_ …but we had tea."

"I'll get tea for you later then; I don't have diddly-shit in this place at the moment. I also doubt you'd like coffee."

Haku stood beside Zabuza, listening to the eggs popping and hissing in the pan. It reminded him of home, or rather, what home had once been like. He stared up at the tall young man who had saved his life, regarding him quite fondly.

Zabuza noticed this innocent violation of his personal space and glanced down at Haku, "What?"

"I'll try some."

This actually made him laugh, "Huh, really? You know you can't add anything to it? I've got nothing, I just drink it straight."

"I don't put anything in my tea though."

"This is definitely not tea, kid."

"I'll still try."

Another amused chuckle escaped him. What a small pleasure this would be to watch a naïve kid get a mouthful of the bitter slop that was his equivalent of a liquid defibrillator. It would most likely make his day. Zabuza had never spent much time with children,  _period,_ but he had to admit he was going to look forward to seeing Haku's face once he took a sip.

Zabuza turned the gas off on the stove, "Alright, go sit down." Haku promptly took a seat at the table and his tall companion scrounged around for two mugs in a high cabinet. He filled one cup with coffee and tipped a small amount into the other. He gave Haku the test-portion, "Try that out." He stood and watched.

Haku held the mug with both hands and took a tentative sip. Zabuza could have set a watch by the boy's well-timed reaction. Haku's eyebrows shot up in alarm towards his hairline and his lips puckered, struggling not to spit out what he had drank. He swallowed audibly and opened his mouth, as if letting air in would remove the pungent taste.

Thankfully, Zabuza slid a plate of fried egg in front of Haku, and the boy was patient enough to be given chopsticks before cramming the food in his mouth. It mercifully absorbed the taste of the coffee.

"You didn't like it then?"

Haku looked sheepish, "No, I didn't. But how can you?"

"I don't mind admitting that I am desensitized to a lot of things, and taste is one of them." He proceeded to drink his coffee, sliding the last of the egg onto his own plate.

"What does… _de-sense-i-tized_  mean?"

Zabuza sat down and gave Haku a measured look.  _'He's a thinker, this one.'_

"It means that I am not sensitive to things, that I'm not bothered."

"Ah." Haku nodded, continuing to eat.

Zabuza passed the bottle of vitamins to his charge, "While I'm thinking about it: here."

"I would have remembered on my own, Zabuza-san. Thank you though." Haku obediently took a tablet and chewed it down quickly.

As he had with all the other food that had been pushed in front of him, Haku wolfed down his eggs. Zabuza had drenched his breakfast in a swamp of hot sauce, and Haku waited patiently for him to be finished before he asked for permission to be excused.

"You can leave the table whenever you want." Zabuza told him.

Haku nodded and then put his dish in the sink. Zabuza watched as the boy left the dinette and turned to the hallway, curious, and then poked into Zabuza's bedroom.

"I didn't say you could go into my room."

"Well, you don't say much until I ask first, Zabuza-san." Haku pointed out innocently. "Am I not free to do whatever I want?"

The man grunted. Maybe this kid was a little too smart for his own good…

"You are free to do what  **I** tell you to do."

"May I please look around then?"

He really, really wanted to say no just to exercise the right, but concluded that there was really no mischief Haku could possibly get up to. He gave the boy a clipped "Yeah" and then continued eating. Haku proceeded into the room, quietly inspecting the new area.

The kid had personality alright. He was bright, hard-working, opportunistic, polite… It was not a disagreeable disposition compared to others, but there was a chance Haku could become willful: accustomed to getting his way. He would need to begin training the boy as soon as possible- squash any hint of self-centeredness or dissent. The sooner he instilled discipline in the boy, the better. His Hyoton would be an incredibly useful tool if developed properly…but it was a strange thing to begin training someone so young. He wasn't even of gennin age; the basic training and knowledge that trainees were "pre-loaded" with, Haku lacked. With that in mind, he was still confident that Haku would rocket past those fundamental levels once he was taught what he needed to know.

Zabuza finished his food and coffee and then cleaned up. For now, Haku would need to sit tight. There was nowhere to go; nowhere safe to train…he would have to be holed up in the apartment until further notice. Zabuza needed to get an idea of the upcoming missions scheduled before he could make any concrete decisions about his charge. He went to his room to see what Haku was up to.

The boy was seated in a chair beside an inadequately stocked bookshelf. Haku had a book in his lap, and on top of that he had cracked open a medium-sized training manual. Nearly all of the books were second-hand and of an adult reading-level.  _'So he's one of those kids…'_

Haku looked up and smiled, "Zabuza-san, I hope you don't mind if I read these…"

"I don't." Zabuza crossed over to the shelf. He began to pull out which books he believed to be appropriate, though few they were: training manuals, history books, old literature and legends…

He set the pile down on a small desk, "I'm not sure if you'll be able to comprehend much of this stuff, but it's worth a shot. You'll have to keep yourself occupied with these until I get back."

"Where are you going, Zabuza-san?"

"I need to report to the Mizukage to find out if I have been assigned to any missions." He said, pulling a roll of bandage-tape out of a drawer, "If that's the case, I may not be back until late...but the old buzzard probably won't send me anywhere today. Most likely I will return this afternoon and I'll bring food. You are not to set foot outside of this apartment, do you understand?"

"I understand."

"Good."

Zabuza quickly dressed in dark clothing and then pulled on his flak vest. He noticed as he began to wrap up his neck and face with the tape that Haku was watching him again. He went about his task in silence and then retrieved scrolls and shoes.

"Do you often cover your face, Zabuza-san?"

"Yeah, many shinobi do."

Haku nodded, thoughtful, and then gathered up the books he planned to read. He exited the room alongside Zabuza and then settled at the table with his reading material.

"Goodbye, Zabuza-san."

"Later." The man replied, reflecting on how he had never really said that to anyone before. He left through the door deep in thought.

* * *

His predictions had proven to be correct. All Kyonjin asked him to do today was be one of the witnesses in the signing of an, in his opinion, extremely shady document. It solidified the control of one of Kyonjin's great allies outside of the village who worked against the rebels: a huge, well-organized, drug cartel.

Zabuza never paid mind to the drug cartels that were gaining notoriety throughout the countryside, but it did not feel right to him to support a drug king-pin, no matter how loyal he claimed to be to Mist's cause,  _'It's got to be one of the easiest ways to get your ass killed.'_

But of course, he kept his criticism to himself and let the Mizukage do what he thought was best, which was usually the polar opposite.

"Very good," Kyonjin sighed, leaning back in his desk chair, "With that settled," He turned his gaze to Zabuza, "I want you to lead a reconnaissance group to the northern region of the island, near an inn called the  _Old Grotto,_ it appears we now have to deal with other villages."

"Which village?"

"I have a report here claiming that Leaf shinobi have been spying in an attempt to gather information on what has been going on in Mist," The Mizukage smirked, "I would like to personally meet this group of nosy Leaf ninja. I expect them to be captured alive and in relatively good condition for questioning. I will speak to the rest of your team later and provide you with details."

"Understood."

"You leave at dawn. Dismissed."

Zabuza turned to leave and was nearly out of the office when Kyonjin made a start, "Zabuza?"

He faced the Mizukage again and was able to stomach his response, "Yes, sir?"

Kyonjin wore a small smile, "This is the first time in a while I have seen you without Kubikiri Boucho."

"I left it at home."

"So you did…even though you were aware that I had summoned you and may have a task for you? That is a gamble isn't it?"

"With all due respect," Zabuza nearly bit his tongue off saying the words, "At the last meeting you indicated that you would not be assigning me missions for a while. You said nothing previously about dispatching me, so I didn't take it."

The Mizukage was less pleased with this reply, "Ah, I understand…I did say that, I know. However…I would like to make it clear that I do not at all approve of you keeping that blade in the Master Scroll."

Zabuza merely stared at him. In his mind he weighed his chances of summoning the Seversword just to piss him off, and then complicate things further by beheading him. Such a thing would definitely have a low approval rating in Mist right about now, but oh…how badly he wished he could do it.

"You see, I acknowledge that the majority of the  _former_ swordsmen serve the interests of the Mist village now," Kyonjin said, scrounging around for a cigarette, "Yet the keeper of the Master Scroll is a known enemy of Mist," He was implying Mangetsu, who by no means had allied himself with the rebel forces, but was still a dangerous outsider, "So I must insist that you keep your weapon on hand, is that clear?"

"Understood." He would have preferred to have said,  _Fuck off._

It was not a thoughtful gesture, but before Kyonjin could say another word Zabuza about-faced and left the office.

He got the feeling he was scaring the daylights out of everyone who was in the market, but Zabuza could not help it; he was horrendously pissed off. There was once a time when the village leader would not  _dare_  tell a swordsman what to do with or where to keep his blade, but now…they had become sell-outs who "yes-ed" the man to death. It was pathetic.

Zabuza had left the administration building and gone straight to the market, where some of the vendors were still selling goods outside despite the colder temperature.

He was able to concentrate on Haku again, and he figured he needed to buy "healthy" foods to get the kid growing. Haku was absolutely puny in physical terms, and Zabuza was not sure if it could be remedied by a proper diet. Still, he had plenty of money and the opportunity to buy very over-priced food.

His mood improved incrementally as he wandered down the aisles of produce, picking up fruits and vegetables that he had hardly ever touched in his life. He ended up gravitating back towards meat and spicy foods a short time later, which he always preferred.

A few stands away Zabuza noticed his old comrade, Kamisori, examining expensive wines. He had that woman with him, the Chief Medic, and the two were smiling and engaging in pleasantries.  _'Well it seems he's finally moved on to better things…scoring a woman who the Mizukage more or less_ _ **owns.**_ _'_

But it must have been more than that. They were standing very close together, conversing and laughing. Kamisori contentedly wrapped an arm around her, looked into the small woman's eyes and spoke tenderly as if…as if…

' _He's totally whipped!'_ It was a bit of a shock. Kamisori hadn't won that woman at all: she had gotten  **him**  on a chain, and she was tugging it down to the market and who  _knew_ where else!

Zabuza had never considered Kamisori a pushover, not in the way Raiga had been a total pussy…but now he seemed a pitiful shadow of his former self. In the past, Kamisori frequently hacked his enemies to pieces in battle, stitched the loose body parts together and then hung them throughout the forest; just to scare off enemies.

Now he was obviously sick with love, consumed by this woman who Zabuza had frankly never known had existed as a competent shinobi until he had seen her seal the Six-Tails.

Zabuza went about purchasing all of the food he had picked up, unwilling to stick around any longer.  _'There goes another,'_ He thought, considering the current generation of Swordsmen,  _'All soft, all settled down…Shon was, then Higashikuni, now this one…'_ It made him nauseous,  _'The generation before ours was so much stronger…Ringo and Kuriarare made Raiga and Kamisori look like amateurs…'_

He stalked away from the market with two enormous bags packed with food, stuck in his contemplation,  _'In spite of all that…this weaker generation can boast something that our predecessors can't…we're still alive.'_

"Zabuza!"

' _Ugh, that voice…'_ He looked to his left and saw an enormous hulk of a man whose facial hair looked truly out-of-control.

"Higashikuni." Zabuza acknowledged the fellow swordsman, though he had hoped he could avoid human contact just for a little while…if fate would be kind.

The giant happily clapped Zabuza on the shoulder, nearly toppling him over, and then laughed, "How have you been, kid? The last time I saw you, you were a foot shorter!"

"Yeah…it's been a while." Zabuza confirmed, and then looked down in confusion to see a tiny boy standing beside Higashikuni. He had the same shade of blue hair and sharp-edged teeth that were widely heritable in the Land of Water. He adjusted his glasses as he looked back up at Zabuza with a small smile.

"Have you met Chojuro?" Higashikuni seemed thrilled to introduce the boy, "Son, this is Zabuza-san, he wields the Seversword."

"Nice to meet you, Zabuza-san." His voice was small, babyish and sincere. He had to be less than half the age of Haku, by his estimate. He looked  _new._

Zabuza looked to the man, incredulous, "You had a kid?"

"Yes, that sometimes happens when you're married." Higashikuni chuckled, placing his hands proudly on his hips, "My little Chojuro is going to wield  _Shibuki_  someday, and later  _Hiramekarei_ if Mangetsu will permit it. I'll train him myself!"

"That's good…just be sure you survive this war. You're always out on the front lines."

"You know me…" He grinned darkly, "I'm the reason those rebels flee, after all. Those battlegrounds are my bitch."

What was he thinking? It was often said that Higashikuni could lay even Kisame flat on his ass if he wanted to. He was hands-down the strongest of  _this_  generation, but with a soft heart.  _'And crazy…that never changed.'_

"I can see you've been thinking a lot, Zabuza." Higashikuni lowered his voice, "You have that  _plotting_ look. I like it. If you ever get up to something, let me know…I'm more than happy to help."

"Sure. I'll remember that." Zabuza sighed, proceeding with his bags, "I've got to go. I've got a kid to feed too."

Higashikuni looked startled, but after a moment took it for a joke, and then had a hard fit of laughter as Zabuza walked away.

* * *

"You're getting married…" Sashayma sighed happily, "It's about time! Well I mean, you've always been a catch…but men around here are not usually up to taking the plunge. Though I have to say that your Kamisori did propose a bit quickly…"

"I have to agree with you on that one." Kuina replied, doing a quarter-turn in front of a department store mirror, "I've been with him for less than a year…and maybe I ought to wait, but during a war…"

Sadness flickered across her friend's face, "I know…nothing is for certain, least of all survival."

Kuina shook her head, "Come on, no more sad talk between us today, alright? We're hanging out just like the old days. Kamisori and I are happy together and we're leaving it at that. But for now, it's just you and me, Sashayma."

The ginger-haired girl smiled, "Yes, of course. Nago always loved doing this sort of thing. Oh, Kuina, no," She frowned, "Take that red one off and try the blue dress again…red just doesn't suit you."

Kuina did another spin and huffed, "Darn, I guess you have a point there. My complexion's paler than most of my sick patients…"

Sashayma laughed, sliding the curtain back in place so her friend could change in peace. She returned to her changing stall across the way, "I'm trying on another too. Maybe I'll find something flattering for a flat-chested girl…"

It was a bizarre affair shopping for clothes nowadays. The people of Mist were so tight on cash that most stores were empty, and what few well-paid shinobi (kunoichi specifically) stopped by to try things on usually heard their voices echo throughout the building. Predictably, they were the only visitors for today.

Kuina had been a bit intimidated when Kamisori had asked her to relocate to his home, yet she had still accepted on the basis that if they were married they could use the extra space. Still, it was frightening to empty out her apartment- watch her life be packed into a few boxes and send her furniture and other belongings out to friends and the needy. Sashayma had been helping her with the process while Kamisori was away, but eventually Kuina had demanded a break.

They resorted to an old pastime that was by no means thrifty, but always uplifting. Retail therapy.

There was a long silence that was dotted with the clicking of hangers and rustling of fabric. Kuina slid into a strapless, sparkling navy number that stopped mid-thigh. She looked at herself in the mirror as she stepped into a pair of heels that she had already convinced herself not to buy.  _'How weird is it…'_ She thought,  _'It's just so weird…that I've never once dressed up for Kamisori. It's always been practical attire or scrubs…or naked. I haven't looked_ _ **sexy**_ _for him so far, I haven't tried…but he wants to marry me.'_ She smiled to herself,  _'It's gotta be my personality.'_

She slid back the curtain, "Sashayma, is this the one you recommended earlier?"

Sashayma peeked out, redressed in a bronze tunic that was, as always, a bit too skimpy. The girl grinned, "Ah yes…that is indeed the one. Get that and then all of the lingerie I picked out for you…and the shoes, keep those…"

"Uh, I don't think I ought to-"

"Kuina, I'm not asking you," Her friend said, "I'm  **telling**  you. You're getting  _married_. He already loves you and thinks you're beautiful, but the  _fun_  part is ambushing your man with little pieces of fabric that punch his imagination into overdrive. Drive him nuts, okay?  _Get them._ "

Kuina nodded sheepishly, staring at the carpet, "Al-right then…dress and lacy things it is…"

"And the shoes!"

"Look, I'm the one who has to move all of this to the new place! I'm just making more work for myself."

"Sounds like you're just making more excuses to me…"

"Fine, I'll do it!" Kuina conceded, "And it had better have the effect on him that you claim it will."

"You'll thank me later. Nago would have solidly agreed with me on this one." Sashayma asserted.

Kuina looked at her friend, seeing her face drop a bit, "Are you okay there? Do you want to talk again?"

"No, I'm alright." Sashayma assured her, "I can't keep crying about it anymore. I've probably destroyed my tear ducts by now. After something like this you just have to keep moving, right? I wasn't getting anything done, I wasn't being productive…that's not how Nago wanted me to live, I know. I'm lucky I have friends looking out for me too." She slid the curtain back over with a sad laugh, "I mean, please, once you were done playing dead you stopped by my place and held me for three days. I've stabilized…as much as I can."

"I hope so." Kuina said quietly, moving to change back into her day clothes, "But if you ever need me for anything, just don't hesitate…"

"Thank you, Kuina," Her answer came before a fierce clacking of hangers, "Now let's go, we've finished up here as far as I can tell, and there's a lot more packing to do…"

The following day the packing process had finally wound down. Nearly all of the furniture (she was quite certain she wouldn't miss) was doled out to neighbors and friends. Kamisori had cleverly stored more breakable objects into a tool-summoning scroll. The rest fit rather snugly into four large boxes. It had confounded Kuina to see how empty the place was…and how easy it had been to cram her home into a small space.

"Well, this just leaves you, Ham," Kuina picked up her hamster, patting him goodbye before returning him to his cage, "Thanks for taking him, Sashayma."

"No problem," The woman smiled broadly, "I've always wanted one that didn't bite, and now I'm getting my wish! And…I could really use a buddy these days."

"I promise I'll see you soon, a few days- tops," She assured her, "If all else fails just come find me at the hospital or ask Guo, he usually knows where I am."

"I sure will." Sashayma said, walking out the door with the hamster cage, "Happy trails, you two…"

She returned her attention to Kamisori and saw him glancing around the place one last time. He appeared lost in thought.

"Are you going to miss it too, Sori?"

"Perhaps a bit…it was a very good place to live." He told her, "To be honest it is in much better condition than my home at the moment."

"You already told me that it needs a good cleaning. I don't think that'll be problem."

"You may change your mind about that once you see the size of the place," He sighed, and then proceeded to make a hand sign, "We'll have adequate help, though."

In a puff of smoke Kamisori produced two clones and immediately Kuina inspected them, amazed by their composition.

"No way! You can make Shadow Clones?" She chirped excitedly, "Oh please show me! That technique would help me in so many situations…"

"I will teach you later, I promise. As it is, I just learned it myself during my last mission..." He admitted.

Each clone took a box for itself, followed by Kuina and Kamisori lifting the remaining two. They exited in reverent silence. Kuina propped her box up between the wall of the corridor and her stomach, and with her free hand, she snapped off the lights and shut the door behind them.

Kuina was not anticipating how far away Kamisori's home was from the Mist village. It wasn't exactly a  _journey,_ but it was in a  **ridiculous** forest that she was sure barely anyone ever set foot in. To top it off, they were loaded down with her worldly possessions and moving rather slowly as snow began to drift down in a white ballet.

Her boots crunched along the forest floor, and she grumpily acknowledging how the gargantuan, stark-bare redwoods would not provide them any cover from the snowfall.  _'At least_   _there's no wind today…then I'd really start to bitch. Even now I'm kind of wishing he made a few more Shadow Clones to carry these boxes…'_

Kamisori, the original, stopped and looked at Kuina, "How are you doing so far?"

"Uh…well, decent, I'd say…"

"Ah, you were starting to look tired. Though I am happy to inform you that we are close by…"

"Good!" She closed her eyes and she inwardly rejoiced,  _'Thank God!'_

"We should ascend here; the branches directly over us will take us on a straight path to the Loft." Kamisori eyed her again, seeing displeasure spread across her features, "Shall I take that from you?"

"Please do, I was about to start complaining."

He chuckled and put his box down temporarily to produce another Shadow Clone, "I apologize. I should have given you a better idea of how far it was, or at least offered earlier…"

"You've redeemed yourself, Kamisori." Kuina assured him, waving her now-free hands, "Lead the way."

She followed him up with a chakra-fueled leap. Sure enough, a mid-level branch did lead them along an easterly canopy route, higher and higher to a most peculiar structure.

' _Whoa.'_ As they approached she saw a house fit for a noble built around and  _into_ the trunks and branches of the redwoods. The main building was a rusty color akin to the surrounding tree bark and had a slanting traditional roof…on top of which she swore she saw a fat, white chicken sitting. The bird made a high-pitched, rapid-fire  _jum, jum, jum_ sound once it spotted them.

She and Kamisori stopped on the veranda of the house, ducking out of the snowfall. Kuina gestured with her thumb up at the roof, "What the heck is that?"

"It's a ptarmigan." He replied, sliding the front door open with a free hand, "It is the summon animal of the Yuki clan, and they are frequently employed to deliver messages."

"So…do you use them?"

"Almost never," He admitted, "However that one stays up there and watches for anyone who gets too close."

Kuina followed Kamisori and his Shadow Clones into the house. "Ah, it's like an alarm, then." She said, thoughtful, "It didn't sound like a chicken to me."

They set the boxes down and Kamisori dispelled his clones. Indoors it was a fraction warmer, and the snowflakes that had settled on their clothing and hair liquidated.

Kuina looked around and gaped. The vast space was fitted with tatami mats and cherry wood floors, hardwood furniture and large windows that poured in wintery light…  _'_ _ **Why**_ _did he want to live with_ _ **me**_ _within Mist? My place was a speck compared to this!'_ The fine china, elegant wall scrolls, delicate paintings, old relics, statues and ceramic pieces,  _'Is that a leather couch over in that corner?'_ a traditional hearth on one end, and on the other…a huge kitchen with modern appliances.

"Holy…" Kuina walked in a small circle with her mouth agape, "…shit."

"It's far too much for one person." Kamisori sighed, "And I had the feeling it was still too much for  **two**  people…"

"You could fit the whole village in here, Sori…"

He chuckled and shook his head, "I won't be sending out invitations…" He tapped one of the boxes with his foot, "We should probably leave these here and keep them sealed while we clean…it's a health hazard in here."

Kuina then noticed the thick coat of dust that laid on every surface in the place. She put her hands on her hips and frowned, "Well, I hate to say this…but this project could take  _days…_ either you got overwhelmed trying to keep up with this place on your own…or you are a terrible slob."

"The former."

"I just can't wrap my head around it…the size of this place  _and_ the filth…"

"Those aren't the most encouraging words." Kamisori pointed out, "Come with me and I'll show you the house."

The wide open space at the front end of the loft was divided into a kitchen, dining room and living area. Out of curiosity Kuina peeked into the refrigerator and was glad to find that Kamisori had stocked it in advance,  _'Good…because if we are tackling this place we'll be trapped here for an eternity, and I'll be damned if I don't have food!'_

Past the living area and through the main corridor Kuina slid doors open as she went by. She counted an even ten bedrooms and four bathrooms, some large and some small,  _'What is this? Really, what is this? Some kind of refurbished hotel!'_  She also noted a study, a washroom, a tea room, storage closets, and before she could have her mind blown further she had reached the end of the hallway. The room there had the same style door that all the previous rooms had, but when Kamisori took her inside she was surprised to find the bedroom wasn't  _empty_.

It was the largest bedroom, and she quickly judged by the size of the bed and the types of off-white linens on it that Kamisori had indeed settled here. Spacious and conservative; it was understated and he didn't have much in terms of "stuff". A chest of drawers, a dresser, a closet, a desk, a display for weaponry, a few loose items, mellow artwork on the walls… _'And plenty of dust in here too…'_ It had not been used frequently, but by gosh would he use that bed once he got  _her_ in it, and Kuina grinned to herself, thinking of the possibilities.

"You'll be staying in here with me." He told her, inclining his head towards the large closet behind her, "I am quite certain all of your belongings can be amply stored here."

"Why? Because I'm a pauper who boxed up her meager dowry to bring to your treetop palace?"

"No…" Kamisori was a bit irked, "I don't have much myself. It has  _nothing_ to do with status, Kuina, I just mean that we can coexist here with plenty of space."

To drive the point home he opened the closet which was, huh, surprise, a walk-in. His clothing barely ventured past the first dividing shelf of about a dozen. Kuina was taken aback,  _'There, I did it again…I judged him too quickly, assuming he was a snobbish rich guy…when he's really kind of a minimalist.'_

"Well it is pretty strange that a man like you who lives so…modestly…would own such a magnificent home. I'm sorry; I guess I'm a bit intimidated by this place." Kuina said, trying to save face, "But if you don't mind my asking, how  _did_ you come to live here?"

"I'll give you the short answer," He relaxed a bit, venturing back into the hallway, "This place was once occupied by a wealthy drug lord. Back when I first became a jounin I crossed paths with him and his lackeys and I eradicated them." Kamisori stopped at the hallway closet and began to retrieve cleaning supplies, "So I kept the spoils for myself."

"Oh." She really was satisfied with that answer; because she feared he may have been born-into-privilege or some garbage like that, "I imagine no one really knows about this place then?"

He thought about it for a moment, "Yes and no."

Her face was quizzical.

"Some of my friends know that I live here, but the Yuki clan does not and no one in Mist knows either." Kamisori told her, handing her some rags, "It's the only thing that has really been mine. You may believe that just because I hail from a well-to-do clan means that I had nice things…but that is not the case."

She nodded; finally clear on the situation, "I got it."

They commenced, beginning with their bedroom and then they opened every window possible, hoping for fresh air as dust began to fly. Maneuvering down the hallway they wiped off nearly every surface, probing each room (although the bathrooms were in impeccably good shape to start) and after a while stopped, tying fabric around their faces to keep the dust at bay. When time really began to drag on Kuina turned to Kamisori, languishing, "Aren't those Shadow Clones good for something? Come on…this place is a fortress…"

He complied, sending three clones into different areas of the house to help out. After a few hours' time Kuina stripped the bed and put the linens through the washing machine, not willing to risk sleeping in dust which she was really beginning to loathe. They had made significant progress by sunset, and they stopped again to have dinner. Kamisori's clones continued to work diligently while they relaxed.

Together they filled dough with meat and spices for dumplings and Kuina darted about, quickly learning where everything was kept in the kitchen cupboards. A beep in the distance drew her attention, "Oh, I'll go get that. It'll just take a second."

"Take your time, I can finish these up."

She had successfully dried the linens, and while she stood over the dryer folding a sheet she mused about her new home,  _'My commute to work is going to be a bit longer…but I know I'll get used to it here…it's just…I come from such humble beginnings. Dad used to live in a shack and now I've worked my way up to great things…'_ Of course she acknowledged her father had a nice home to live in now, but life had been hard when she was young.  _'I appreciate everything I get…and I don't know if Kamisori understands just how overwhelmed and thankful I am.'_

A Shadow Clone approached her from behind, leaning down to speak quietly in her ear, "Kuina, let me help you with that."

"Nah, it's fine, thanks. Go find some more expensive hardwood floor to polish, Mr. Fancy-house."

Then she felt arms wrap around her middle and warm lips kiss the pulsing point on her neck. Her hands froze, losing a corner that she had just lined up in order to fold the blanket. She made a small sound, voicing her approval of the loving touch. But then she felt herself being bent over and pressed against the dryer,  _'What the-!'_ and though it was Kamisori making motions to do something naughty to her during laundry time it was  **still** a  _clone_  and very, very strange.

She twisted around and flung the blanket in the Shadow Clone Kamisori's face, "Here you go! Keep busy! I'm gonna go have dinner now…" And she swiftly bustled down the corridor with her cheeks blazing red.

Her real man was already at the table spreading out the first batch of boiled dumplings. Awkwardly straight-legged and embarrassed, Kuina walked over to the dining area and sat down. Kamisori looked at her curiously from across the table, "Are you alright, Kuina?"

"I, uh…oh…gosh," She sighed heavily, and then poured herself some green tea, "Honestly, I am somewhere between turned on and horrified."

"All while doing laundry?" He observed, somewhat concerned.

"One of your clones came by and started…you know…" Kuina gestured spastically with her hands, "He tried to have his…its…way with me! I don't know!"

Kamisori stared at her for a minute before a smile spread on his face, "Now…that  _is_ an idea, isn't it?"

"No! I wasn't going to do anything! It's just creepy…" Kuina helped herself to some dumplings, "And would  _you_ condone such a thing?"

"It'd still be  _me._ "

"It would be a  **replica** of you."

He shrugged, "Well if it bothers you I will keep them away from you. Though  _I_ don't see harm in you enjoying yourself with a chakra-infused entity that is merely an extension of myself. No harm would come to you."

Kuina crammed food in her mouth and chewed indignantly,  _'It's still bizarre!'_

Kamisori looked at her and began to laugh.

"What?"

"I'm just…so glad that you're here with me."

Her eyes brightened. She finished inhaling her food and smiled, "Me too. I really like it here. I guess I was initially stunned by the size of this place-"

"There's still more to see-"

" _Don't_  interrupt me! But yes, I want to make this my home as well." Kuina continued, "I do have one request, though."

"Anything you like."

"I want you to come meet my father, so he can meet you before we get married." She said, adding, "I know we aren't looking for approval or anything…but I know he would like you."

"Of course," He didn't hesitate to agree to it, "It would be an honor to meet your father."

Relieved, she smiled again, taking one last dumpling. In that moment, the mischievous Shadow Clone walked by and gave her a suggestive glance. "Finished. I'm off to find some expensive hardwood floors now." It said with a hint of sass, annoyed over being jilted earlier.

Humiliated, Kuina covered her face with her hands as Kamisori threw his head back and laughed.

* * *

The night sky was dark with motionless clouds overhead, dropping a silent sheet of snow on the earth. Two dark figures trekked through the rugged countryside. Here in the outskirts of the Land of Water the weather was much harsher and civilization was scarce. The two stopped along the chiseled face of a rocky hill and squeezed into a cave to take shelter.

"Watch your step in here, Kimimaro. Ah, I've never been much good at picking out a decent cave…"

"This will do." The boy said, shaking snow from his jacket.

Shon dropped a pile of semi-dry wood and pine twigs on the floor. He produced a bone-pick from his arm and hastily dug out a pit, " _Buh_ …I am chilled to the bone…though bear in mind that's just an expression, my young friend…aren't you cold?"

Kimimaro, a bit ashamedly, nodded his head.

"Go into my pack then and take the blanket. You're a skinny thing  _and_ you have less clothing on than I do. We'll have to fix that soon…" Shon observed. He began arranging the wood and kindling in the pit, watching as the small boy tugged open the travel bag and retrieved a rolled, wool blanket.

Shon lit the kindling with a match and then blew gently to get the flame to catch. He beckoned Kimimaro over, "Come on, you try. You'll need to do this yourself if you are caught off-guard in the wild sometime." Kimimaro's breath was a bit too forceful, and scattered a spray of tiny embers, "Whoa, child, gentler please…there you go."

Kimimaro settled beside Shon and tossed a part of the blanket over the man's folded legs. It had been a long day. The snow had been persistent even from the morning hours, plodding down on them as they travelled. Kimimaro had not liked Shon's training that day either; his joints were so stiff and cold he felt as though he had no fight in him.

"Many people, even most shinobi, are used to staying indoors during the winter months." Shon explained, looking down at his young companion, "Our clan was no exception. Usually winter acts as a mock cease-fire during times of strife. Nowadays that is  **not** the case…"

"It is difficult fighting in these temperatures."

"I know, and you will need to get used to it. Imagine if we lived in the  _Land of Snow,_ then we would have no excuse if we wanted to call ourselves shinobi."

Kimimaro nodded glumly, staring into the fire.

"Rebel forces take advantage of the Mist Village's slow movements during the winter…" Shon went on, "We need to be careful not to get mixed up in their business. The Yuki clan is famous for ambushing squads during blizzards…some of which they create themselves. We must always be watchful and keep moving. You will need to teach your body to cooperate so you can run and fight in the cold."

"I understand."

Shon pulled the blanket away from his legs and draped it over the boy for warmth, "I know it's hard, but you'll just have to do as I say. It's the only way we'll survive."

Kimimaro pulled the blanket up to his face and sighed. He laid back against the cave wall and tried to relax. He missed having a bed. He missed having food and shelter. He missed the  _security_ that his clan, no matter how rotten they had been, had provided for him. Shon was a wise teacher, but there were times Kimimaro felt a shred of resentment for what the man was putting him through.

Shon riffled around in the bag and drew out a small pot. He went to the mouth of the cave and scooped snow into it before he settled by the fire again. For a few quiet minutes the man pushed small bone pieces from his arm, and then arranged them so that the pot could be set atop the fire.

"I know you are probably upset with me. We've been travelling for a while with no real home in sight, and you have been training hard in spite of these rough times. You may doubt what I've told you…or believe that I am tricking you..." Shon said, aware of how Kimimaro had been feeling, "I think I owe you a clear explanation of what is going to happen from here on out."

Kimimaro looked up at Shon, glad that his troubles had been acknowledged, "So, what is it, then?"

"I am one of the Seven Shinobi Swordsman, you know this. There are others like me who I need to get in contact with. The first I need to speak to is the keeper of the Master Scroll, our young leader…" Shon showed the boy the tattoo on his arm again, "You remember this? It is a Division Seal, and it sends and retrieves weapons to and from the Master Scroll. Once you have proven yourself someday, you will receive one."

"Why do you need to speak to the leader?"

"Because he is in danger, much like we are." The man sighed, "And I…feel I am responsible for helping him, because I know he would do the same for any of us."

"You said he was young…but he must be powerful. How old is he?"

"Oh…maybe half my age…" Shon estimated, "And he has a younger brother too, who is a bit younger than you, I imagine."

"He will be our ally?"

"Most assuredly."

"And then who do you need to find?"

"Then next swordsman is a good friend of mine. He lives in a place outside of Mist, and we can stay there for as long as we need to. It will be easier for me to train you once we have settled."

Kimimaro nodded.

"Now…I will tell you the real reason we are out here on the heaths." Shon said, taking the pot of boiling water off of the fire, "The leader lives nearby. I will go speak to him tonight. You must stay here where it is warm and rest, as there would be no sense in you coming with me."

"I see." Kimimaro said, quite surprised by their proximity to another swordsman. They were in the middle of  _nowhere._

Shon poured the water into two tea cups with his favorite tea leaves. He and Kimimaro sat and drank the tea, content to finally warm up during the frigid night. When Shon finished he added more wood to the fire to strengthen it, "I will return by morning.  _Stay here_ , Kimimaro, you are not to leave under any circumstances."

"But…what if you die? Then what do I do?"

"Well," Shon chuckled at the unlikely idea, "If a day passes and I am not here, please use your best judgment to preserve yourself. However this should only take an hour or two. I am very likely to succeed tonight."

He then raced out of the cave, leaving his young ward bundled by the fire.

* * *

At first he was moving blindly in the darkness, but quickly Shon's eyes adjusted to the low light and vague, grey color of the snow. He raced over it, confident that no other living soul, human or animal, would be out in the moorlands on a snowy night.

His landmark was a small cluster of pine trees that appeared somewhat ill-suited for the location. Shon entered the glade and in the dark he could see the lone, glowing light of a cabin. He went up to the house, knocked once on the door, and then let himself inside where it was warm…although his welcome was less so.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?" A rough voice ground out from the sitting room, where an ashen, pot-bellied man stood from his chair, "Oh…it's you…we've got no use for the likes of you 'round here, so get out before I put you through a world of hurt!"

"Hello, Hozuki-san. May I speak with your son?"

"Absolutely-fucking-not! Out I said!"

Shon sighed, "I am trying to be civil, but this is urgent enough to disregard your permission…"

Before Shon began climbing the stairs to the second floor, he noticed something very wrong with Mangetsu's father. He looked more than just sickly…he looked positively horrid. His skin was pallid and… _melting_ , as if he had lost control over their family's  _Water-Body_ ability. He was wobbling where he stood and reeked of alcohol.

' _It appears that would be a Hozuki's great undoing, considering how precious water is for them…he's been drinking.'_ Shon considered it, leaping up the stairs and startling Mangetsu. He was shirtless and had a kunai in hand, ready to defend himself.

After seeing who his visitor was he calmed down, "Shon? What are you doing here?"

His father's furious shouting continued from the first floor.

"I needed to make sure you were still alive." Shon told him, "How are you holding up?"

Mangetsu shook his head with a grave expression. He turned away and pulled a sweater on, "Things have gotten really bad. There's nowhere for us to go where we won't be spotted or turned over to Mist…I can't get food or supplies anywhere…many others with abilities have already been captured or killed."

"I know. The Mizukage ordered me to facilitate the destruction of the Kaguya clan."

Shocked, the young man looked back at him, "Are you kidding me?"

"No. I was only able to rescue one child, who I've taken as my student. The only other survivors are those who live at the Yuki estate."

"Oh fuck…" Mangetsu sat on the edge of his bed and rubbed his neck anxiously, "I don't suppose he's wiped out other clans or families has he?"

"It won't be much longer, I'm afraid. The rebel forces are growing weaker…" Shon reported sadly, "It's time for you to get moving, you and your brother. You have duties to fulfill as a master of the Seven Swords."

"I know…I was already prepared to leave, actually." The young man agreed, "My dad has lost it. He's drinking himself to death…he's so far gone that he can barely keep his physical form because his cells dehydrated or something…he's fucked. We can't depend on him at all."

"I saw that myself."

"I'll take Suigetsu anywhere where he can be safe. Where do you think we should go?"

"Go to the Loft. Kamisori would never turn you away in such dire times." Shon answered, "It so happens I am heading there myself. As soon as you can be ready take your brother and leave…and stay to the outskirts…Mist patrols are willing to come even this far at times, but I think the snow may discourage them."

"I've got to be careful…he's so young and he has  **no** stamina, yet. Suigetsu could die out there even if I took great care of him and avoided enemies."

"Then I suggest you hurry. I would offer to travel with you but I cannot risk my own student."

"Yeah, I get it." Mangetsu muttered, and after a moment of listening to the ambient static of the house, panic came over his features. Crying could be heard from below. Mangetsu leapt up and rushed down to the first floor. Shon followed after him, watching as the young swordsman pulled his father off of a small, shuddering child on the floor who was half-liquid and slowly reforming.

"Dad, I'm sorry, I didn't touch your radio…" The child was weeping and shielding his head with his arms, "D-Don't…hit me anymore…I know I shouldn't…t-touch it…"

"Bullshit you little-!"

Mangetsu lifted the man and slammed him against the wall, bearing his sharp teeth, "I told  **you** never to hit him  _again,_ because  **you're** the one who  _can't_  do what he's told."

"Suigetsu-"

" _IS A KID,_ and you don't  **get** that." Mangetsu hissed, "You fail in every respect as a father: you let him down, you let me down, and you let mom down-"

"You shut your-!"

Mangetsu caught the weak fist that was flung at him, "You are pathetic. You can't handle how the pressure keeps mounting in this country...you can't accept how things have changed. It's a shame. You can't fight half as well as you can drink, and now you've lost what little ability you had to start.  _You don't tell_ _ **me**_ _what to do;_ I am the one who's been keeping  _your sorry ass alive!"_

"Let  _go_ of me."

Mangetsu dropped him and his father swayed on his feet, scowling at his eldest son, but not denying any of the accusations.

"Tomorrow we are leaving, Suigetsu and me. You can stay here and do what you want."

"You can't take my son!"

"I'm his brother, and if he stays here with you…you are going to let him die," Mangetsu said, and he bent down and picked up the sniffling boy from the floor, "The fact is, I'm your son too, and you never gave a shit about me. I won't let you do the same to him."

His father cursed and then reached for a bottle on the mantle, turning back to his radio program. Suigetsu cried into his brother's shoulder as he was carried up the stairs. Mangetsu caught Shon's eye as he was departing through the front door, "Shon…"

"I will see you soon, Mangetsu."

"You definitely will."

Shon disappeared into the night again, and Mangetsu brought Suigetsu to his bedroom, which was little more than a closet with cartoon posters and mobiles of animals and shinobi tools. He laid the boy down in his bed, and helped him scooch beneath his quilt. The boy grew still, his tears spent, and then he rubbed tiredly at his eyes.

"Want me to tell you something good?"

"Yeah…"

"You're coming with me on a mission tomorrow."

"Really?" His excitement briefly overcame his exhaustion.

Mangetsu nodded, "You bet…we need to find the Loft. It's a safe place. I'm going to be training you as a ninja too."

"Finally!" Suigetsu squealed, "And you'll let me use the swords?"

"You need to listen to me, okay? We have to take this one step at a time…you are small and fragile and there is a war raging out there…I won't lie to you. This is so dangerous we could both die…"

Suigetsu fell silent again, unsettled, but he listened.

"There are a lot of things we need to be careful of. If I tell you to hide, you hide. If I say run, you run. We are the kind of people who get hunted down…for no reasons other than fear and paranoia…so I need you to learn as much as you can because I don't want you to die. I'm going to teach you how to  _survive_ first, and then you'll learn to fight later. Got it?"

"I got it." His voice was innocent and frightful.

"Good." He kissed his brother's forehead, "Now sleep. Sleep as much as you can because we won't be safe or comfortable for a while after this…" He stood and pulled on the string to shut the lightbulb off.

"Hey bro?"

"Yeah?"

"Dad's not…coming with us…is he?"

"No he's not."

He sighed, "Thank goodness."

Mangetsu smiled, "Goodnight, Suigetsu."

"'Night…"

And without sparing a moment Mangetsu wrenched a large backpack out of a storage bin and whirled around the room. He retrieved supplies, clothes, and other necessities and stuffed them in the bag, hoping against hope that somehow his delicate baby brother would survive the journey.

' _The swords are getting together…there might be a chance…for us to stop all of this.'_ He thought, his hand closing around the Master Scroll,  _'And maybe then my brother will be a shinobi of a village he can be proud of. He'll be a swordsman, like us…his life depends on it.'_


	10. The beginning of a well-read shinobi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reading is to the mind what exercise is to the body. -Joseph Addison

Zabuza had been out for a while.

Haku's senses were piqued by every creak of a floorboard and every door-slam in the building. He never lingered beside the window for more than a few minutes, knowing that Zabuza did not want people to discover him. Haku had deduced for himself that his power was the reason why he ought not to be seen. While he appreciated Zabuza's efforts in caring for him, he was quickly becoming restless.

' _I shouldn't fidget…someone may hear me.'_ Haku would catch himself pacing, desperate for some kind of fresh air. He returned to his pile of literature, occupying himself as best he could. It was the only company he had kept for hours on end.

He had dog-eared a section halfway through a Genin training manual. He had comprehended all of the basic concepts of chakra and types of jutsu, but upon arriving at a technical section about team cooperation and strategies he stopped. Haku decided he would ask Zabuza about the parts he was unfamiliar with. After that, he had picked up a small paperback of fables and morals, which he absorbed rapidly. He moved onto a hardcover that detailed myths about past shinobi.

It seemed absurd that one story suggested a powerful ninja had condensed and lifted the moon in ancient times. Haku had no other explanation for the moon's existence, but he felt as though he inherently disagreed. He read on about wise animals that grew to gargantuan sizes. Reading further he learned of clans and alliances, topics that Haku had an inkling of previously from rumors circulating through the farming community.

He ended up on the couch on his stomach, holding his chin up with both hands. Haku dissected the mythology book that he had propped up on a throw pillow.  _'I wonder if Zabuza-san has read any of these…and if he has, if he truly believes any of it?'_ It looked as though most of the books had been acquired secondhand or by chance.

When he lived on the farm, Haku's mother had taught him how to read so that he would be able to keep records of harvests. His father had not been well educated but could read enough to get by. There had been little to read back then, but his parents had gifted him with two books that they had saved for in their time together. They had been children's books that Haku could not distinctly recall.

Haku spied a small novel near the bottom of the pile. He tugged at it from the floor and readjusted to be comfortable on the sofa again. He turned it over in his hands to examine it. The book lacked creases and looked as if Zabuza had never opened it. It was younger looking than some of the editions Haku had been flipping through. He paused with the mythology book and peeked into the novel.

"The tale of the utterly gutsy shinobi…" Haku read quietly, "A novel by Jiraiya of the Legendary Three…"

In silence he gave his undivided attention to the book for three hours. Haku was introduced to a protagonist named Naruto, a dedicated and courageous shinobi. As he read about the hero's adventure he thought of Zabuza, who seemed almost a stark contrast. Though Haku knew little of shinobi overall, he understood that Zabuza had seen his share of battles without having to ask the man. It would explain his bluntness and fierce demeanor. Haku was also aware that he would one day become a shinobi, even if it was not by his choice. The character in the story was different from Zabuza, but Haku decided that his qualities were just as admirable.

Haku's favorite story was interrupted by Zabuza's return. He marked his page and set the novel aside before greeting, "Welcome back, Zabuza-san!"

"Hey."

"Would you like me to help you with those?" Haku asked, gesturing to the bags Zabuza was carrying.

"No. This won't take long."

Haku stood and considered how he was going to spend his time now. The Tale of the Utterly Gutsy Shinobi was of a more personal interest to him, so Haku figured it was best to save it for future reading. As for the other materials he had looked at, he assumed Zabuza would be more willing to discuss them. Haku crossed over to the couch and picked up the books he had looked at.

He sat down at the table with them and watched as Zabuza mechanically put away the foodstuffs.

"Is it true that a shinobi made the moon?"

Zabuza paused and turned slowly to look at the boy. They locked gazes for a moment before he replied, "I can honestly say I have no idea."

Haku held open the page he had read that had an illustration to go along with it. The silhouette of a sage was depicted and Haku tapped it with his finger, "This says Rikudō Sennin made the moon. He did it to seal away a great evil."

"Haku, it's just a legend. Just like you can't believe every story someone tells you, you can't believe everything in books either."

"What about the ninja training manual?" Haku patted the tattered volume.

"That's easily testable and so most of it is true." Zabuza gruffed, shutting a cupboard, "You can depend on it; but it can only serve as a foundation. I will teach you the rest of what you need to know."

Haku flipped it open curiously, returning to the team tactics section, "Will I be part of a team?"

"You will be my apprentice. You'll learn how to work with others gradually." Zabuza elected that feeding Haku would be a good way to prevent him from asking more questions, "What do you want to eat?"

"Are there rice balls?"

Zabuza sighed. He cooked enough to function, but not to impress. What would pass in his opinion for a rice ball would likely resemble a piece of garbage to Haku.

"Sure." He said.

Haku smiled. The man unenthusiastically prepared the rice cooker and looked around for the seaweed he had purchased earlier. While he went about the preparations Haku continued to make observations about the manual.

"Is chakra the thing that makes my power work, Zabuza-san?"

"Fundamentally, yeah, but you controlling your chakra and your Kekkei Genkai are not the same thing." He informed the boy, "You have very good chakra control for someone your age, and so your powers are manifesting early."

Haku briefly checked the table of contents of the manual, "There is nothing in here about that…"

"That's because Kekkei Genkai are unique to the clan they are genetically linked to. No book could give you details about those abilities; they are too many and too diverse. Your Hyoton blood limit is known only to the Yuki clan." The man explained, "I've been around long enough to see a few Kekkei Genkai and how they work."

"So that's how you know?" Haku confirmed.

"Yeah. By now I can sort of tell just by looking at someone, out on the battlefield, anyway." Zabuza said with a faraway expression, "The clans in this country aren't that hard to identify."

He didn't want to tell Haku that he had been sniffing around for a Hyoton-user days before. It was true, though, he could tell right away that Haku had been a candidate for a blood limit. Not that it mattered how Haku felt about Zabuza specifically saving him for his power; it was Haku's circumstance like it or not. The child was not yet complaining.

"My power belongs to the Yuki clan…" Haku was beginning to piece it together, "Then that means that my mother was a part of that clan?"

"There's no doubt about it."

"But why?" The boy's voice cracked, "Why do people hate those with Kekkei Genkai so much?" Haku's fists balled on the table and tears welled up in his eyes, "My mother and I didn't do anything! We never hurt anyone!"

Zabuza crossed over to the boy and placed a hand on his head. Haku quieted down but his shoulders trembled as sadness overcame him.

"Relax, Haku." The swordsman said, "What you are going to realize is that this war is all about people being afraid of each other. A person without a blood limit is afraid of someone who could kill him with one, and a person with a blood limit is afraid of someone who will persecute and kill him because of his power. This was all caused by a group of self-important people who needed to place blame somewhere."

Haku shook his head. It still did not make sense to him. How did he and his mother fit into this conflict? He flipped the book shut in frustration, and lowered his head onto his folded arms.

Out of what was a twinge of sympathy, Zabuza patted Haku's small shoulder and then returned to preparing the meal.  _'He's just going to have to get over it. Once I get him distracted with training he won't mope anymore.'_ He thought to himself.

He put a cup of hot green tea in front of the boy but Haku paid it no mind. When the rice was ready Zabuza dragged a chair up to the counter and barked, "Hey, do you know how to make these? Get over here and help."

The boy's head snapped up in surprise. He stood and sluggishly crossed over to the counter. Haku assisted in shaping the rice that Zabuza spooned out, and in silence they worked together. After a few minutes Haku had the hang of it and he continued the preparations on his own. Zabuza set a bowl of vegetables on the table for his ward and then found himself meat to fry up.

They set dishes on the table and sat down. Zabuza found it an odd thing that he was sharing a meal with someone. In the past it had been such a rare occurrence. Haku was a beacon of youth and curiosity he had always gone without. He was such a fragile creature…it reminded Zabuza of the little girl he had killed on a mission months earlier, at the behest of the Mizukage. The Mizukage. The source of their troubles.

"I don't have a Kekkei Genkai." Zabuza said, "Do you think you can trust me?"

Haku stared at the man, "I think so."

"Why?"

"Well," He took a moment to compose his answer, "How you speak of people who have Kekkei Genkai…it sounds like you are on their side. Also you have only been trying to help me so far…"

"Don't get the wrong idea," Zabuza corrected him, "I am on  **no one's** side, and if so, only my  _own._ If it's easier to simplify this down to the clans versus the Mizukage, then I should tell you that I hate them both. When I set things right around here they will all answer to me, the only one with sense in this village. If it matters, Haku, you are on  **my** side."

Haku was surprised. He considered Zabuza's statement while he took a bite of riceball. After a moment he nodded, understanding, "Yes, Zabuza-san. I think you're right. I will do my best to help you achieve what you need to do!"

"Good. Now eat. You need to start putting on some weight, kid."

His chopsticks flew between vegetables, rice and meat, hoping to please Zabuza. He had a better idea of what the man wanted now and what Zabuza expected of him. It seemed as if he was destined to enter the fray with Zabuza, competing against the clans and the Mist Village. He would commit himself to it, of course, but part of him would always remain with the gutsy shinobi. Haku wondered if one day he could employ the protagonist Naruto's ideals, even if Zabuza was asking for the opposite.

* * *

"Okay, Sori, now just bear in mind that my father is kind of…" Kuina searched for the words, "A…comedian."

Kamisori frowned in confusion, "I thought he was a fisherman?"

"He  _is._ " Kuina clarified, "But he thinks he's hilarious. If he starts to annoy you…"

"Don't worry about it." The white haired man assured her, "I don't get annoyed as easily as others do."

They had arrived in a small fishing town on the coast. It was a humble settlement on the edge of the forest, devoid of modernity, and each thatched roof had some form of chimney and there were fishing nets hung to dry in every yard. Kamisori found it a very interesting, innocent place. It was an hour away from the Mist Village as the crow flew. It had very little contact with shinobi, save for a handful of genin students who commuted from the fishing town to Mist for training.

Recently, Kuina had told him, the local genin had stopped returning home for fear of being captured. They did not venture outside of Mist anymore, and were given shelter at Kyonjin's discretion so they could get to the Academy every day. Their parents understood the danger, but longed to see their children again. There was no guarantee they would return home until they were full-fledged ninja, capable of defending themselves during a war.

He had learned that Kuina had done the same commute, many years ago. She had been the only genin representing the fishing town at that time. Her father had insisted that she train, which Kamisori suspected was because of the lineage on her mother's side.

Now at her father's doorstep, Kamisori could see that his home was a notch above the others in the community,  _'Maybe Kuina helped him out?'_ It was a larger home situated on a lagoon, and on the back dock an engine-propelled boat was tied up. A vegetable garden had since frozen over at the side of the house, but by springtime would be yielding tomatoes again. Kuina knocked animatedly and then watched Kamisori's face. He gave her a small, reassuring smile.

Mr. Arashino answered the door after a moment, and with a yell threw his arms around his daughter's shoulders, enveloping her in a warm hug, "Kuina!" They laughed, taken aback by the other's excitement, and then caught their breath.

"It's so good to see you, Dad!" She kissed his cheek and then turned to her companion, "I brought my boyfriend Kamisori with me; he's been looking forward to meeting you."

"Ah…" The older man paused and eyed Kamisori up and down. He looked about Kuina's age and had unusual but attractive traits: white, tufted hair, blue eyes, and expensive clan-clothing that spoke of his heritage. He would not have taken this man as Kuina's type, but it helped when Kamisori bowed respectfully.

"It's an honor to meet you, Arashino-san." Kamisori said, rising up again. He extended his hand and Kuina's father gladly shook it. He was a tanned, fit-looking man who had lost all but a few gray hairs on his head. His eyes were the same bright amethyst as his daughter's. He certainly looked like a fisherman, albeit a well-dressed one, and his smile belied some kind of mischief.

"And it's good to meet you too, at last, Kamisori." The man replied, "Call me Uomaru, please, now come in! Both of you! Welcome!"

He ushered them inside, where the fireplace was crackling lazily.

"How have you been, Dad?"

"Oh, don't fuss over me! It's all the same down here, thank God. Those ninja don't stop by our fisheries." Her father grinned, "The dead-fish smell keeps them out."

Kuina nodded, chuckling, and glanced slowly to Kamisori,  _'Here we go…I hope Kamisori can stomach these jokes…'_

They sat down in armchairs by the fireplace and Uomaru put his hands on his hips, "So, what are we having to drink?"

"Is there milk?" Kamisori asked. He had finished the last of what had been in the refrigerator back at home.

" _Did I just hear that?"_  Uomaru hollered, "No! I'm talking about hard liquor! What's wrong with you kids? That hidden village of yours has tamed you! Kuina, you still drink whiskey, right?"

"Dad!" Kuina chided, gripping the arms of her seat, "We're not here to booze up! We want to talk to you!"

"Fine, you lot of party-poopers." He relented, "Kamisori, I've got milk somewhere for you. How about you, Kuina?"

"Water is fine, Dad."

"Total party-poopers…" He exited the living room and Kuina leaned back in her chair with a sigh.

"Kuina, he's nothing if not lively."

"I know. I just have to readjust. He's like this with new people…he breaks out the wine and has heart-to-hearts." She explained, "Once we get him chatting he will tone it down a bit."

"Hey!" Her father's voice came from the adjacent room, "What are you two whispering about?"

"You, of course." Kuina replied promptly.

He laughed again when he returned, setting their drinks down in front of them.

"There's your milk, here's my wine and my dear daughter's water…see I put a lemon in it for you?"

"Thank you, Dad."

"You're welcome! I remember how much you like them. In fact, pretty much your favorite thing to eat since you were a kid was lemon." Uomaru turned to Kamisori, "Bet you didn't know that about Kuina, did ya? She was an unusual kid. She said that lemon was her favorite because it was the most exciting thing she had ever put in her mouth."

"Dad…"

"Then she grew up, of course…" He said playfully, pleased with the surprised expression he got from Kamisori.

" **Dad.** "

"Alright, that's enough kidding from me. I'm old and ugly and no one talks to me around here." Uomaru continued, "So what brings you kids for a visit, besides a formal introduction?"

Kuina and Kamisori exchanged a glance, wondering how to approach the subject. Kamisori decided to speak on the matter, since it was all his idea.

"Arashino-san, I won't try to amaze you with stories of where I come from or my work as a shinobi, because none of that will matter to you. I believe what is most important to the both of us is Kuina." The white haired man cut to the point, "I love her. I love her more than my own life, she's made my time on this earth worthwhile and so I have asked her to marry me. What should also be said is that I would not proceed without knowing we had your permission first."

Kuina felt her mouth hang open, dazzled by the profession of love that she had not been expecting. Where was the pomp of Kamisori's achievements? His history as a shinobi? She had to give him credit for being smart enough to set all of that aside in favor of reaching out to her father. Still, she carefully watched as her father's expression went from a stubborn to contemplative look, and then he finally surrendered with a sip of his drink.

"Well, kid, I have to say I know nothing about you." Uomaru nodded to himself, putting his hands on his knees, "Though that sounded pretty dang sincere…"

Kamisori did not speak. He waited patiently for an answer.

"Go ahead!" The man laughed, "Sure you have my blessing! I don't care much what Kuina does because I always know she'll do what's right. She chose herself a fine man, so I figure I don't need to do a background check!" He leaned over and lowered his voice, "But listen to me when I tell you:  _if you hurt her I will use you as chum for my drag-net in the southern straits, you got me?_ "

Kuina smiled, "Thank you, Dad!"

"Nah, just be happy…"

"Thank you, Arashino-san."

"Yeah, yeah." He waved it off, "So I guess you two have been planning this for a while?"

"Not really, we're keeping it simple." Kuina informed her father, "We don't have time for a ceremony between our missions, so it has to be quick."

"What? No shrine wedding or reception with tons of food for your old man?" Uomaru frowned, "How could you do this to me?"

She shook her head and sipped her water.

"Kuina, I don't care. I would be more upset if I had to drag myself up to Mist, honestly."

"That's what I initially thought."

"So are you staying the night here, kiddo?"

"Yes, if it's no trouble." Kamisori said, adding, "It is better not to travel at night when we may cross into areas controlled by rebels. The daylight is safest."

Uomaru threw his hands up, excited, "Well! The first visitors I have in months and they're shinobi! Maybe a bit unwilling now…but after the wine, ha ha! You may stay another day or two!"

"If only time permitted, Dad." Kuina smiled softly, "Oh! Can I go find the old pictures? I think there is one of my mom somewhere."

"Sure you can look. I think it's up in your old room…in some woven baskets with photos and junk."

"I'll be right back." Kuina stood and went upstairs in a flash, hoping she wouldn't leave Kamisori alone with her father for too long.

"So how old are you really, Kamisori?"

"I will be 30 this year. Why do you ask, sir?"

"You're a bit…" Uomaru gestured to his hair, "Snowy. My God, I mean, even I'm still gray on the five hairs I have left…but I'm twice your age!"

"I was…born looking like this."

"Ahaha! I knew that! Come on, man, it's a joke!" He clapped Kamisori on the shoulder, "Wait here's another: I can't spell Armageddon, but it's not the end of the world! Ahaha!"

He didn't really mean to, but Kamisori smiled just a bit.

"Okay, now you know how smart Kuina is, that's because she takes after me. We can both recite the Periodic Table of the Elements."

Kamisori got the feeling this would lead into another joke, "That's quite difficult."

"It goes: Hydrogen, Helium, Lithium, Beryllium, Boron, Carbon, Nitrogen…" Uomaru then leaned into Kamisori and screamed, "OXYGEN!"

He had started a tiny bit, not understanding the point.

"That was the element of surprise, my friend."

Kamisori did laugh quietly at the pun.

"I hear shouting, Dad!" Kuina called down from the second floor, "Cool it!"

There was a brief interlude of silence in which Kamisori was able to get a better look at his surroundings. There was no mystery of what Uomaru favored when it came to decorating. All of the memorabilia and furniture in the room had a maritime theme. Lamps made of old anchors, picture frames trimmed with old twine, glass balls from nets… _'None of it seems too contrived. One could still feel at home here, looking at the story of his life.'_

"You like it?" Uomaru asked, referring to the sitting room.

"I do. It's an escape from what you see in the Mist Village."

"Well of course!" He laughed, "Most of it is old stuff I pulled from my boat and reworked! I'd be shocked if Mist had anything like this, though I've never been there to look."

Kamisori was surprised, "Haven't you ever traveled to Kirigakure?"

"Nope, and why would I want to go?" He shuddered, finishing off his glass, "Kuina's told me all about it in her letters. It's a sour deal living there."

"I have to agree." Kamisori replied, thinking of how he too lived away from Mist's agitation.

Kuina came down the stairs cooing happily with a small box in her arms. She sat down beside Kamisori, and excitedly flashed a few ragged photographs.

"Look at these! Oh my gosh…this was my mom, although it's hard to see…" Kuina pointed carefully to a woman grinning in a line of people, "These are her comrades, but this is her."

Kamisori could barely make the black and white image out, but it seemed as though Kuina resembled her mother,  _'Maybe the shape of her face…'_

Kuina then moved on to photos of a chubby, red-haired toddler, "This is my big sister, Kushina! She lives in the Leaf Village, so I haven't seen her since I was little."

Chubby Kushina did not look as much like her slim, energetic mother, not in the way Kuina did.

"Half-sister, technically…" Uomaru reminded her, "Your mom brought her here for a little while before they split on orders from Leaf. She was a cute kid with big dreams."

"Why did your mother leave you here, if you don't mind my asking?" Kamisori inquired.

Kuina's joyful expression sobered as she placed a few of the photos back in the box.

"This isn't something we are really supposed to talk about…" Uomaru said quietly.

"He won't repeat it, Dad. It's because my mom asked my father to protect me. She didn't want me to be brought to the Leaf Village to be used in the same way as my sister." Kuina explained, "The Leaf Village didn't know I existed, and so they only requested Kushina."

"For what?"

Uomaru wanted to help out, "Her mother was a refugee kunoichi of the former Hidden Eddy Village, you know, before everyone burned it to the ground. The Uzumaki clan was well known for their powers and ability with, oh damn, what's it called, Kuina?"

"Sealing jutsu."

"Yeah, that's right! Famous for their sealing techniques!" He clapped when he remembered, "They are born with special vitality, and so they live for a long time. Leaf contracted little Kushina because of this, and in return they were allowed to live in Leaf."

"Sealing techniques…I gather that Leaf had something important they wanted to seal away?" Kamisori pointed out.

"Yes." Kuina nodded gravely, "They made my sister the jinchuriki for the Nine-Tailed Fox."

"A young girl?" Kamisori exclaimed, horrified.

She nodded again, saddened, "Oh they usually favor Uzumaki shinobi for it. I never saw her after she went away. From what she's told me in letters, a while ago, it's a beautiful village and…" Kuina chuckled, "She wants to be the Hokage."

"She very well could be, if she wanted." Kamisori muttered, still aghast over the information.

Uomaru held up a photo of Kuina as an infant just before bath time, "Isn't this the sweetest, most unrecognizable lump you ever did see?"

Wide-eyed, Kuina snatched the picture back, "I'm putting these away now! Do  _not_ embarrass me Dad, or this will be my  _last_ visit!"

He apologized, but luckily in that moment Kamisori had been distracted by Kuina's irritated face. His thoughts were a tangled mess, concerned about Kuina's Uzumaki lineage,  _'How many people know?'_

After cleaning up, Uomaru fed them a brief, filling dinner of beef stew and convinced them to try the wine. Contented with the food and alcohol, both Kamisori and his intended felt their eyelids get heavy. Uomaru then unfolded the couch into a large cot, "Kuina's bed is a relic from when she was a little kid…I figure this will fit you better!" And after saying goodnight, they made themselves comfortable in the dark and watched as the fireplace smoldered what embers were left.

Kamisori felt Kuina press sleepily against his back, beginning to doze off. He was still too shocked to let his mind rest. He rolled over and pulled her lolling form into his arms.

"Kuina," He said quietly, "Could they make you into a jinchuriki too?"

She rubbed at her eyes, "Why are you worried?"

"I am suspicious that perhaps Kyonjin has purposefully kept you close to him." Kamisori admitted, "It may be because he knows you are predisposed as a container…"

She shook her head, "Higa-sensei already negotiated that with him, a while ago. I don't think Mizukage-sama would go back on his word. I'm almost too old anyway, don't you think?"

"I don't know."

Kuina kissed his bottom lip gently, because it was too dark to see the rest of his mouth. She let her hands roam through his cotton-soft hair before she rolled again, positioning herself as a little spoon.

"It's fine, Sori. Just go to sleep." She yawned, "I love you. I can handle anything when I am with you…"

"Alright," He found her shoulder and kissed it, as if staking a claim, "Goodnight, Kuina."

He drifted off to sleep, wondering why he remembered a report years ago about the Nine-Tailed Fox attacking the Leaf Village. His brain was unable to link the fact that Kushina had been an active jinchuriki when the disaster had struck, and the thought dissipated meaninglessly as his dreams waded in.

* * *

A few days passed after the couple's visit with the old fisherman, and Kuina had once again assumed her duties at the hospital. Rama the newly-minted jounin had an arm sprain and mild concussion that she was seeing to. They chatted amiably and eventually the subject of her engagement was brought up.

"Yeah...I want to get married too," Rama agreed, "Though I want to do it when this war is over, you know? I just don't feel like I can settle down right now, even if I met the girl of my dreams."

"Rama, trust me, if you met the girl of your dreams you probably wouldn't hesitate." Kuina informed him, "Your priorities change when you really love someone, whether war is raging or not."

He considered it and then nodded, "Maybe. But you went and got Yuki Kamisori, probably the most solitary guy in this village, to fall for you…never would have guessed that one in a million years."

She smiled, "We had to work for it."

Rama cooperated when she fitted his arm with a cushioned sling. She was adjusting the loop when he asked, "So, is he like getting you a ring or something?"

"I don't know. Is that what men are supposed to do?"

"Yeah! Well it's the new trend at least, getting shiny baubles for their women." Rama speculated, "My best friend did it for his lady. She got him one too."

"Oh gosh, should I-?"

"Relax, it's just a  _fad,_ it doesn't mean anything unless you want it too. If you are marrying someone then you're married no matter what kind of exchange you make, right? As long as its heartfelt."

"Huh, you're a thoughtful young man, Rama."

"Thanks." He stood from the patient-table and checked his shoulder, "Yup, this is good and snug."

"Oh no, do you think Kamisori got me a ring?" Kuina was concerned, "Would he even think of something like that? I was going to be more traditional and look for family heirlooms and stuff."

"Who cares! But you know what? He probably did. He's rich and hip to the latest crazes. Just you wait." Rama looked at her before he went to the door, "Did you even care if you got one before I mentioned it?"

She shook her head laughing, "No, I don't care; I just want to be even with him. I wouldn't want to receive without being able to give."

"Kuina-san, all you  _do_  around here is give to people. It's about time someone gave back."

* * *

Today Zabuza had once again donned Black-Ops armor for a hunting mission. Kyonjin fancied catching the Leaf ninja spies rumored to have settled about 10 kilometers outside of Mist. It was bound to be a fun time.

The major drawback to this mission was that he had not been assigned as captain. At first he had been peeved that Raiga had been put on the squad as well, but Zabuza was further disappointed when one of the Mizukage's war-pets, Ao, was appointed leader. Ao was a sensor-type ninja of acute skill and an acclaimed hunter; he was also a prideful jackass about Zabuza's age.

' _Kyonjin wants me to enjoy staring at the back of this asshole's head for the next few days.'_

Knowing that this undertaking would be a handful, Zabuza had provided Haku with a week's worth of food and plenty of reading. He hoped to return in less than two days, but he was certain the boy was capable of avoiding detection while he was gone.

With any luck Kyonjin would not decide to audit him while he was away and check the apartment. On occasion Zabuza did have these fears, but he had no other place to keep Haku at the moment. It was a chance he would have to take, and hope that Haku would not be discovered.

On the team of four, Munsu, a middle-aged, no-nonsense hunter flanked Raiga on the left. Zabuza was ahead of them, just a hair behind Ao to his right. They flew on a southwestern path behind their swirl-marking masks, oriented towards a port town, but planned a sweep of the forest on its borders. Ao had already locked onto several unknown chakra signatures in the woodland they were approaching, his hunch suggesting that is was the targeted group.

Zabuza was confident in Ao's sensory abilities, but chose to be cautious of the man's leadership. If an appropriate time for improvisation arose Zabuza would happily take it. Before moving into the targeted range, Ao had his team halt in the treetops to go over strategies.

"I am absolutely certain these are the Leaf ninja." He informed them, "In addition to that there are four of them, most likely of jounin level. They could possibly be a match for us depending on who is among them, but a swift ambush will give us the advantage."

Ao turned expectantly to Zabuza, "You are the most talented with silent-assassination, Zabuza. This task was made for you. Move in with fog cover but do it quickly, there's a chance they may have a shinobi who can detect you. I will cover you." He then addressed Munsu and Raiga, "Raiga, you deal follow-up damage after Zabuza, and Munsu, interrupt any counterattack they try to make."

They nodded in understanding.

Ao smiled as he gazed out into the wintery forest, "Coming here will be their final mistake."

* * *

As directed, Zabuza promptly moved in for the kill when a blanket of mist had formed. Confused, the group of four Leaf nin wandered briefly in the fog before realizing the danger, but by that point Zabuza was standing between them with the Seversword raised.

There was a shout of fright and then something unprecedented, for Zabuza at least, occurred.

A mighty wall of chakra spun with immense force, knocking Zabuza, his blade, and the other Leaf ninja back and away; dispersing some of the mist in the process. A jounin with long, dark hair and completely white eyes was staring Zabuza down while in an offensive stance. He called to his comrades, "There are more of them coming!"

As per his instructions, Raiga descended with incredible speed, bringing with him a volley of lightning strikes. He successfully struck two of the Leaf ninja, and as Munsu moved in to prevent any counterattacks, it seemed to be a guaranteed victory.

"Leaf Hurricane!"

It seemed to be.

Munsu flew back from the powerful taijutsu assault, hurtling past Raiga who closed in on the fleet-footed young jounin. They danced around each other briefly before Raiga lashed out with another technique, "You're dead! Lightning ball!" His blades generated a screeching orb that would have blown his opponent away, but the white-eyed shinobi dove in and deflected the attack with another rotation.

The young jounin was grinning, "Thank you, Himori, my youthful comrade!"

"Gai, this is  **not** the time!"

Furious, Raiga redirected his lightning-style attacks on Himori. Munsu recovered just as soon as the other two Leaf ninja did, and Ao appeared in the snowy clearing to assist him.

This left Zabuza face to face with Gai: the man with a bowl-cut.

' _What the fuck am I looking at?'_

Zabuza had the good sense to create several water clones as a distraction to assess his enemy's techniques. The man was a grinning whirlwind of kicks and punches that wrecked his surroundings. He had never seen anything so asinine in all of his life, and it made his already hair-trigger temper tip over the edge.  _'Hack off his limbs first…slow him down enough to separate the head from the body…and silence that mouth!'_

A few swings of his massive Seversword had the young Leaf ninja reevaluating his choice of an opponent. He maneuvered Gai away from the clearing and towards a footbridge over a stream. Zabuza built up momentum and then hurled the blade, forcing Gai to dodge it, and he followed immediately with a powerful jutsu, "Water Dragon Blast!"

The creek was entirely consumed and fired a jet in a bestial shape, blowing Gai away. Zabuza wasted no time in retrieving his sword from the trunk of a tree and diving into Ao and Munsu's action. Ao had pinned a struggling Leaf ninja who was down to his final kunai, and Zabuza took liberties.

He rounded on Ao's catch and raised his colossal blade, focusing his chakra for a technique that was very rarely used. Zabuza's slash appeared superficial as it had barely sliced open his enemy's skin, but as he pulled back on the sword, blood spurted forth in an unnatural torrent.

Ao made a sound of disapproval as his prey instantly collapsed from the dramatic blood loss, and it joined with the Seversword as a new iron-coating. The blade's passive ability was a means of repairing itself and draining foes. It worked best when the sword was actually damaged.

The Leaf nin's comrade made a start to retrieve his fallen friend, but Zabuza loomed over the injured man, "One more step and his head's coming off."

Ao backtracked to Raiga, who was still harassing Himori. Deciding it was an appropriate time to lay more pressure on the team, Zabuza followed him, leaving the last Leaf ninja to collect his mortally wounded teammate.

Zabuza and Munsu circled around Gai, who had become considerably troublesome after opening three chakra gates,  _'How could a fool like this have such a skill?'_

They clashed furiously as Gai wielded nunchaku to defend himself from sword-swipes. The two were unnecessarily pummeled and substituted nearly a hundred times before they heard Ao's command to retreat. The captain had an unconscious Raiga hauled over his shoulder. They reacted immediately, knowing the quickest route to put distance between themselves and the Leaf team.

After retreating for several kilometers back into what was deemed "safe" territory for Mist sympathizers, Ao called for them to stop. He looked very, very smug.

"Did any of that accomplish the Mizukage's wishes?" Zabuza growled, "They were a little  _too_ prepared to deal with an attack."

"Oh we accomplished his wishes, my friend." Ao was grinning as he pulled Raiga from his shoulder, and undid the combination transformation to reveal one of the Leaf shinobi.

As if on cue, Raiga leapt down from a tree branch to join them, lauding the captain's clever idea. Earlier he had made himself scarce after Himori had let his guard down and been knocked out, and Ao made it look as if the casualty had been that of Mist's squadron.

The group stood over the unconscious man on the ground, curious as to why Ao was so pleased with the capture.

"Aside from this one being able to supply us with intel about his team," Ao explained, "This here is a Hyuga! Now look…" He lifted the man's headband to reveal a smooth and clear forehead, "This indicates he is not a member of the cadet branch, which if I have heard correctly…means his Byakugan belongs to us now."

* * *

"Very well done!" The Mizukage was thrilled with the results of the mission, "Now this is a rare find, isn't it? Nearly every captured member of the Hyuga clan has been from the Branch Family…rendering their blood limit untouchable to outsiders."

Zabuza stood beside Ao who had propped up the drugged and unconscious Hyuga in an office chair. Ao had been sure to put their captive under after binding his hands and dragging him back to Mist. Raiga and Munsu stood off to the side, their expressions indifferent to the victory. Raiga had earlier complained that only one Leaf ninja had been killed, and that it would have been more satisfying to leave only one alive for questioning. Ao pointed out it was not worth the risk of injury if they could take just one hostage and leave the rest behind. Konohagakure was more likely to negotiate than to attack in retaliation, unless of course, a whole team was wiped out.

"Zabuza, I am pleased that you made such short work of your opponents, it comes as no surprise!" For once Kyonjin was genuinely delighted to have Zabuza as an underling, "And Raiga! You assisted in a very valuable capture! You two can expect a little extra compensation this week…"

"Thank you, Mizukage-sama."

Zabuza chose not to reply.

After a curt knock on the door Hayago entered. He stopped beside Zabuza and silently regarded him from the corner of his eye as the Mizukage concluded the debriefing.

"Are you here to perform the interrogation?" Zabuza asked the veteran under his breath.

"No," Hayago answered, "I came here to make sure something gets done. This is a delicate situation."

"What is it? The Hyuga?"

"I knew this was going to happen."

Zabuza's eyes narrowed, " _How_ could you  _know_?"

Kyonjin interrupted the quiet exchange, "Well done, all of you; you're dismissed. Take your leave now. I will be having a few of my intelligence specialists coming in shortly for a…talk with our guest."

"Would you mind terribly if I stayed to make a request, Mizukage-sama?" Ao inquired.

"Not if you're quick about it," Kyonjin said, and then looked expectantly to Hayago, "Any news?"

"Yes. We must speak."

The Mizukage nodded and then repeated, "You're dismissed."

Munsu exited first and was followed closely by Raiga. Zabuza stole one final parting glance over his shoulder at Hayago, who for some reason seemed to be aware of the high-profile capture  _before_ the news had become common knowledge. Even more curious was the Mizukage's interest in what Hayago had to say. Zabuza left the office, choosing not to dismiss the odd feeling he had about the old jounin.

* * *

It was a relief to find Haku well read, fed and watered back at the apartment. The boy sprang up and animatedly greeted Zabuza. He had not been gone for very long, but Haku had been looking forward to his return.

It was time to unwind. He set Kubakiri Houcho on a display in order to oil and sharpen it later, and then unclipped his Black-Ops vest and pulled it off.

"Why are you dressed like that, Zabuza-san?"

"I was on a high-level mission that required this armor."

"You don't need to wear it all the time?"

"I'd prefer not to. It's conspicuous."

"I see."

"Did you eat enough? Took those vitamins?"

"Yes, I did."

"Good. Sit tight, I need a shower."

And Haku happily skipped back to the couch to where the Tale of the Utterly Gutsy Shinobi was dwindling down to its last pages. Zabuza was gone for a while and Haku listened to the sound of water running while he read. It was an exciting feeling every time Zabuza returned from a mission. Now that he had been reading more of what shinobi did, Haku was dying to ask Zabuza what his missions were like.  _'Maybe he'll tell me!'_

Zabuza entered the room again in civilian clothes, carrying a work box with items clanking around inside of it. He sat down in a chair beside the display and began to retrieve things from the toolbox. Haku sidled up to him, smiling, and then asked, "So what was your mission like?"

"Hm…you've been wondering about that, have you?"

"Yes! I want to know."

Zabuza gestured to the huge sword he was starting to work turpentine into, "Take a guess, kid."

"Did you have to defeat someone bad?"

"Not bad, more like inconvenient. Leaf shinobi had been spying on the Mist Village."

"And you fought them?" Haku pressed further.

Zabuza paused in his care for the Seversword and smiled slightly at Haku, "If you want to know, you'll have to work for it. Things have been coming to you too easily as of late. You probably would not like what you'd hear anyway."

"Oh, what can I do?"

The man stood and took a bowl from the drying rack beside the sink. He filled it with water and then set it on the table. "You can start by practicing with your Kekkei Genkai. Show me some progress and I'll tell you all about the mission."

Haku frowned, taken aback by the request. So far he had been unable to associate his bloodline ability with anything positive. He had made no attempt to use his power recently, but if Zabuza asked it of him then he would do it.

Zabuza went back to work on the sword and Haku crossed over to the table slowly, contemplating his next action. He understood what he had to do. He had read about using chakra and he had a basic knowledge of how to apply it to his power, but it was the feeling that came with it that made him hesitate. The guilt and anger he had felt on the day of his parents' deaths was still anchored in his heart.

And yet, what business did he have being hung up on the matter? People died every day, he knew, and he understood from the start that Zabuza had adopted him only  _because_ of his power. If he chose not to develop it, he risked being abandoned. He  _had_ to learn to wield his Kekkei Genkai, but he  _didn't_ have to use it for the wrong reasons.

' _I can become a brave and good ninja like Naruto…and protect what's important to me!'_

With a resolute attitude, Haku raised his hand over the bowl and made the water tremble. It came so easily to him, he noted. It was barely an expenditure of effort, unlike what the books claimed. Injecting just a hint of chakra allowed him to pull the water from the bowl, dip it back in, freeze it, unfreeze it, and then finally he launched it into the air, letting it hover playfully over Zabuza's head.

"Huh, and what do you plan to do with that?" The man asked.

Haku let it drop.

A bowlful of water soaked Zabuza's head and shoulders and he grunted in response. He ought not to get angry because 1) it would attract attention and 2) he  _had_ asked Haku to practice. Before he could give a mild reprimand, Haku had manipulated the water off of him, dried him and condensed it into a sphere. He walked it back over to the table and willed it into the bowl in silence. The man was surprised,  _'He's better at that than I thought he'd be…'_

Haku crossed back to his guardian and sat cross-legged on the floor.

"Not bad." Zabuza told him, not acknowledging the fact Haku had splashed him without consequence.

"You think so? Thank you. Will you tell me now?"

"I said I would." Zabuza said as pulled a whetstone from the box, "Yesterday I left on a squadron of four to go hunting for a team of Leaf ninja. We were ordered by the Mizukage to capture at least one of the Leaf team for questioning. Our captain was a sensor-type shinobi and so he quickly located our targets. I lead the ambush."

"What is a sensor-type?"

"It just refers to a ninja who is able to acutely feel the presence of or identify the chakra of other people. They are good at finding other shinobi and so they are valuable on teams."

"I'm not a sensor-type." Haku gathered.

"You're not, but who cares? Neither am I."

Haku nodded.

"Anyway, the ambush was a combination between the  _Mist Hiding Jutsu_ and  _Silent-Assassination Jutsu._ Nine times out of ten that will finish off anyone who is not prepared to counter it, however the Leaf ninja had a shinobi on their team who had a Kekkei Genkai that could see in tough conditions."

"He saw you?"

"With a powerful doujutsu called the Byakugan."

"Ninja in the Leaf Village also have Kekkei Genkai?"

"Pft, yeah. That village has tons of unified clans with crazy abilities. They are a force to be reckoned with. For future reference, study the abilities of Konohagakure's ninja well and be prepared for difficult battles."

"I will."

"I used this in combat," Zabuza continued, tapping on the Seversword, "Let me tell you what I did with it…"

Zabuza completed caring for Kubakiri Houcho well before he finished his tale. Haku even followed him to the sink when he washed his hands, to the bedroom to put away the toolbox, and then back to the kitchen when he began selecting foods to turn into the evening meal. He gave more detail and perspective than any of the books did: those volumes touted the ideal while Zabuza dealt in reality.

"What will happen to the prisoner?" Haku asked after hearing the conclusion.

"Can't say for sure…he may be released to his village for a price, he may be kept in captivity in Mist or executed when he is no longer useful." Zabuza shrugged, "That is the Mizukage's decision."

"That doesn't seem fair."

Zabuza shook his head as he set a pot on the stove, "There  _is_ nothing fair about being a shinobi. You should be aware of the risks you are taking when you accept a mission. I don't ask anyone for a guarantee that I won't be killed or become a prisoner of war when I walk out the door." He drizzled oil into the bottom of the pot and then lit the burner, "Haku, the fate of that man is probably not going to be a good one, you and I both know that…and that is just one of the reasons why the Fourth Mizukage needs to be eliminated."

"Is he really so horrible?" Haku asked, hopping up on the counter and sitting on the far side of the sink, "He is a village leader and he has to protect his people."

"Let me put it to you this way," Zabuza said as he added stewing meet to the heated oil, "If it weren't for him, many people with Kekkei Genkai would still be alive. He exacerbated the hysteria and hatred of people with blood limits…and it  _resulted_ in the deaths of many people in his own village. Just because he's the leader doesn't mean he's done anything positive."

The boy sat quietly on the countertop, staring blankly ahead. The news hit him hard, redirecting his anger and frustration at a man he did not even know, but like Zabuza, hoped he could stop one day. His hands fisted in his lap and his thoughts roamed.

Zabuza went back and forth between a cabinet and the refrigerator collecting ingredients for the stew. He let Haku dwell on the thought, hoping the realization would align the boy more with his own principles.

Haku broke the silence, "If he wasn't the Mizukage anymore…would the fighting stop?"

"It probably would. I can't promise that, but if a more open-minded leader took power, that leader would most likely work to end the conflict."

"I see."

Although neither of them said it, they both thought it:  _'What if Zabuza became the Mizukage?'_

Once the meat was ready Zabuza added vegetables, spice and flavored stock. Nearly any meal that revolved around meat he could cook rather well. It was his default meal and with time Haku's diet would adjust,  _'He needs the protein and he's almost finished taking those vitamins.'_

"Zabuza-san."

"Yeah?"

"I will train hard and do whatever I can to help you defeat the Mizukage." Haku told him, "I promise."

"I know you will." He nodded, putting tea on to boil, "And I promise to teach you everything I know, just don't make the mistake of disobeying me. In times like these, it could cost you your life."

"I understand."

"Hey, while you're over there, grab those bowls and go set the table." He added flour to the pot in increments.

"Oh!" Haku glanced to his left and saw ceramic bowls on the drying rack. He quickly reached out and took them and hopped from his perch.

"Take it easy, we won't be eating for another hour or two."

"Oh right! Sorry." Haku acknowledged, and relaxed as he went about his task.

Zabuza watched the boy from the corner of his eye. It was unusual for him, but he could not deny a growing fondness for the child. He enjoyed Haku's intelligence and hardworking attitude, knowing they were traits that would serve him well as he trained as a shinobi. It was also obvious he possessed a strong and natural command over the Hyoton. While it all seemed to be going his way, time was beginning to run out.

' _I've got to get him out of here soon. Every day that passes is another day a Black-Ops snitch could stop in here to check things out. If we don't find a new place within three weeks I'd wager we'd be pushing it…'_

Haku walked around the table, setting glasses and spoons down.

' _When he's out in the fresh air, out in the wild…then he'll show his stuff. Haku's power will be more fine-tuned than Kamisori's…than that of the Yuki leader, even. I'll watch him soar.'_ He looked back to the boy and folded his arms,  _'There's no way Kyonjin will survive the two of us.'_

Night descended and between the two companions they finished off an entire pot of beef stew. An ordeal followed when they had nearly lost the will to wash dishes they were so stuffed, and it was a struggle just to turn the tap on. They collapsed on the couch afterward, and Haku managed a few more pages of "The Gutsy Shinobi" before his eyelids began to droop and his head was lolling.

Zabuza took the novel from his hands and set it atop the stack of books the boy had accumulated. He put them on a lamp-side table and draped a blanket over Haku, maneuvering his head onto a pillow just before he fell asleep. He turned the lamp off and drowned the room in darkness.

Twenty paces across the pitch-black floor Zabuza arrived at the door to his bedroom. Without any further ceremony he walked until his knees touched the edge of his mattress and he fell face-first onto it. Zabuza squashed a pillow between his shoulder and face and quickly found sleep.

His dreams were strange and troubled. For a time he dreamt he was walking through Mist but he was Haku's height and he was tragically unarmed. Though he was shorter than in reality, people treated him with the same suspicion they typically did. He felt himself reliving past battles; felt the twitch and reaction of every muscle as he swung the Seversword and used ninjutsu, abilities which disappeared as his dream continued. A white bird swooped angrily at his head and then took off. He walked past the captured Hyuga on the street, nearly feeling sympathetic for the man, and then finally came face-to-face with Hayago.

The dark jounin's fearsome orange eyes pierced him, and Zabuza instantly felt powerless. Hayago informed Zabuza that he knew many things, and that he knew he was raising Haku in secret. After a moment Zabuza realized he was short and defenseless because he had visualized himself as Haku. He  _was_ Haku. He desperately tried to use any jutsu to escape. It became cold. Then he woke with a start.

It  _was_ cold.

In fact, it was  _freezing_ in his apartment, and he rolled over groggily in his bed before feeling alarm. He detected a worrying amount of chakra in the room beside him, and his super-agility activated in response as he leapt into the darkness and located the boy.

Haku tossed and muttered unintelligible things while he slept on the couch. His nightmare had caused him to manifest his power in reality, which had Zabuza perplexed and convinced he would have to explain the wintery indoor-conditions to his neighbors. Waking Haku could potentially make it worse but he had no other choice. Very carefully, he kneeled down and gently shook the boy's shoulder, saying quietly, "Haku. You're dreaming."

The boy stirred and the rapidly dropping temperature in the room returned to normal. His eyes snapped open and he sat up with a sob, throwing his arms around the man's neck.

"Uh…"

" _It wasn't real?_ " The boy confirmed in terror, " _I don't even know how to fight yet…'_

"Calm down, it was a nightmare." Zabuza tried to pull back, but Haku's grip was cemented to him in fear, "You can let go."

Haku's brief crying transitioned into hyperventilating when he seemed to be stuck in a waking-dream, looking at things across the room that weren't there. Zabuza lightly tapped the boy's cheek, "Hey. Hey!" It seemed to bring him back, if only a little, "You can't go nuts in the middle of the night. Guards will be over here like stink on shit."

Haku had ensnared his neck and considering his hold did not waver even when he stood up _,_ Zabuza scooped the child into his arms, aggravated, and returned to his bedroom, delivering gentle wake-up slaps to his face, "Hey!"

Haku shook his head and blinked sleepily. His anxiety upon waking instantly tired him out again. "I'm sorry…I wasn't trying to do anything."

"Don't have any more bad dreams."

"I can't help it."

"You've been reading too much."

"What else can I do…" The boy replied tiredly, "I'm sorry."

Zabuza sat down on the bed, deposited Haku in it, and threw the blanket over him, "Go to sleep and do  **not** do that again. I swear if I have to explain anything to the night-watch I will have you up every night on caffeine if that's what it takes…"

"Sorry…"

Zabuza fell back, trying to quell his anger before it woke him up entirely, but luckily his full stomach was reacquainting him with sleep.

"Not one goddamn  _peep_ do you hear me? I will decapitate anyone who…who stops…here…"

Haku answered with a snore.

Then there was peace.


	11. The transient ninja's troubled trip

Suigetsu was 116 centimeters tall, mostly skin and ribs. His elder brother had bundled him in thick clothes that were a bit large for his frame, and then asked him to take a walk in the snow outside of the house. Mangetsu wanted to be sure he could actually move in the stiff snowsuit.

He did. He toddled around and complained from beneath a heavy scarf.

"It's too hot."

"Are you sweating?" Mangetsu asked.

"No."

"Then it's fine. You need to keep your water." His brother dismissed it, "And if you freeze you'll freeze solid, little brother. It's better that you're warm."

Their father was unconscious in his bedroom when they had finally packed and left the house. Shon had advised them to make a break for it before Mist shinobi sniffed out their shack on the heaths. No goodbye was necessary. The man had screamed at them the night before and that, Mangetsu surmised, would have to suffice.

And so it began under slate skies, completely carpeted with clouds, a long journey in the biting cold. Winter sat on the Water Country like an old woman on a bench; thin, white, and refusing to budge. The harsh weather was going to test them, Mangetsu knew.

For a while, Suigetsu marched a few steps ahead of him on the path. His boots crunched in the thin layer of snow. Eventually, their house was out of sight on the moorland. Later still, they had reached the rolling hills beyond that Suigetsu had never seen before. Doubt entered the small boy's heart. He whimpered, realizing home was behind them and would stay behind them. It was a tall and hideous feeling for him.

Suigetsu reached a mitten'd hand and held on to his brother's coat, sniffling.

Mangetsu was silent for a while as his brother cried. He never knew what exactly was best for Suigetsu, even though he was desperately searching for it. Taking him away from the warm security of home was going to sting, but would it hurt worse than staying with an abusive parent?  _'Please try to believe we can do better, little guy.'_ There was no future back there.

Likewise, he had tried to help the Seven Swords stay together in vain, advocating for their solidarity when the Mizukage denounced the organization. It stood in almost symbolic opposition to the village leader, but that could be changed. Mangetsu would bend and contort their image into civil servants, if that's what officials wanted.

When negotiations failed and his comrades were told to obey or die, many obeyed and took what they could get. They were no fools. Mangetsu watched the swordsmen, his friends, scatter to the winds in silent defeat. Though he was called "leader" once, he hardly felt he deserved the title. He had been utterly incapable of helping them. But Mangetsu would be damned if he failed his own brother.

"S-Sorry." Suigetsu slurred, breaking him out of his thoughts.

"What? What's the matter?"

"I-I know I…shouldn't cry…"

"Suigetsu, I'll never tell you not to cry. If that's what's rumbling around in your chest and you need to let it out, you let it out! I do."

"But D-Dad always s-said that tears…are j-just wasting our water. We break our bodies up f-for no reason…"

"He's an idiot." Mangetsu declared, "Don't believe that. It's a minimal loss, if at all. He's a hypocrite who tells you that and then drinks until every cell in his body dries up. The only thing you should 'never' do is be an alcoholic. Crying is fine." He added as an afterthought, "And that pretty much goes for everyone…not just Hozuki."

"Okay." The small boy hiccuped.

After a while, Suigetsu's energy began to fade. His feet were chilled in his boots, his nose was running, and his head hung lethargically as the pom-pom of his hat swayed with each step. Mangetsu adjusted his duffle bag at his side before scooping up his brother, pulling him onto his back.

"Hold on to me. We need to make up some time if we're going to make it to a town before sunset." He darted off over the snow and his brother held fast.

Suigetsu marveled at the speed of a shinobi. His first experience with moving so fast was not on his own two legs, but some day it would be, he told himself. The wind sheered past his face. He yanked up his scarf a little higher to fight the chill.

They later arrived in a municipality that was annexed by the Hidden Mist Village. As far away as the settlement was, many people chose to make their homes in the quaint valley if they could afford it.

The snow was fresher here. "It must have just fallen." Mangetsu supposed.

He set down Suigetsu so he could walk down the main avenue that was lined with snow-capped cabins, cozy woodworked signs, and banners waving. It felt like the war was absent here. Children were even playing outside.

Enticed, Suigetsu tottered ahead down the snowy lane and asked if he could join the snowball fight. He was quickly accepted by the scampering, bundled-up children. Mangetsu made no objections and let his brother play wildly, beaming other kids in the back with clumps of snow.

While keeping an eye on his brother, Mangetsu lurked at the edge of an alleyway to check the Master Scroll. He did so periodically to keep track of which swords were still at his disposal. He also did it to determine which swordsmen were "selfish, unhelpful bastards" when they kept the blades on their persons.

The parchment revealed that  _Kabutowari, Hiramekarei,_ and  _Shibuki_ were currently stored in the Master Scroll _._ All the rest were unavailable.

"Come on you greedy pricks…" Mangetsu muttered, "I'm dying out here! Most of you are safe and sound…"

Not that this circumstance really surprised him. Truthfully, he would be far more shocked if there were four or more swords available.  _'I can do the math. I count four major assholes.'_ Chiefest among them would be Zabuza, then Raiga. Kamisori and Kisame were milder assholes. Mangetsu nodded to himself as he wound up the scroll. Shon and Higashikuni were rather  _generous,_ all considered, as unlikely as that seemed. They understood Mangetsu's plight and tried to provide for him when they could.

' _And I'll repay them for that, when I can…'_

Mangetsu stepped out onto the avenue and watched Suigetsu play for a while, chuckling to himself. After several children returned home, Mangetsu led his bopping, white-haired brother to the tavern on the corner. A hostess welcomed them inside and led them towards seating at a kotatsu.

Suigetsu listened as his brother muttered to him, "Try not to talk. Or show your teeth…" The small boy nodded as they removed their boots politely.

Mangetsu had mentioned on occasion that their sharp teeth could  _alarm people._ Many shinobi clans in Mist sported shark-like chompers, but the valley-folk tended to overreact to such features these days. Even a hitai-ate could spook them.

On a cold winter's day Mangetsu would have liked to have ordered a hotpot meal, but he was down to the last bit of money he had scraped together since being blacklisted. He settled for hot nishin soba and a pot of tea.  _'We need to eat on the cheap.'_ Of course, he was none too pleased to see that Suigetsu's bowl arrived with the saddest excuse for a herring fillet he'd ever seen. Mangetsu added an extra piece of fish to his brother's bowl and told Suigetsu to  _shush_  when he questioned it. Sometimes cheap really meant  _cheap._

The comfort of a warm table and a blanket over their laps helped them forget their troubles for a while. Suigetsu began to quietly mock an obese customer at the far end of the dining room. Mangetsu snickered at his antics.

"Big bro, are we, like, going to practice ninja skills or what?" The boy whispered through a cupped hand, "You said you'd teach me."

"I said I was going to teach you to survive first, fight second." Mangetsu corrected.

"Are you sure?" The boy whined.

"If you die, what good are you in a fight?"

"I won't die. I'll just splash into a puddle like always." His smile revealed a pointed tooth and Mangetsu tapped the boy's lips with chopsticks as a reminder. Suigetsu pursed his mouth quickly.

"Not always." His brother cautioned. He swirled buckwheat noodles around his bowl before noisily slurping them up.

Suigetsu rested his arm on the table and balanced his chin on the palm of his hand. His sigh carried a hint of annoyance. Mangetsu felt it was prudent to explain it to him.

"You know human bodies are made mostly of water." Mangetsu poured more tea into a cup, "Intracellular. Extracellular. Plasma. It's a lot. Between 50 and 65 percent, give or take."

"In-tra…sella..ler." Suigetsu repeated feebly, scrunching his eyes.

"You probably heard about it on Dad's science programs on the radio. Or when he'd hit you, you could make your body liquid. Hozuki have about 79 to 83 percent water content, depending on the day. We can do amazing things." His big brother winked an eye at him, "We can change shape. We can make things hurt less. We can be ridiculously strong or we can trickle away and hide." He poked Suigetsu's cheek with his pinky finger, "You're a little water balloon, kiddo."

"Hey!" He batted Mangetsu's hand away.

"The same things that make us strong are also what can make us weak." Mangetsu warned, "You've seen ice cubes in Dad's drinking glass, right?"

"Yeah."

"That could be you. If you're out too long in the cold, or if a jutsu hurts you…" He explained, "We freeze faster than normal people. We're super-conductors too. Electricity fried our cousin, years back. You know he didn't survive. Basically, anything that can be done to a cup of water can be done to us." Mangetsu clacked his empty tea cup down.

"Electricity is like lightning, right?"

"Right. It's  _very_  bad. Stay away from it." He said as his brother nodded fervently.

"So tell me…do you want to learn how to fight first?" Mangetsu tilted his head to gaze at the small boy, "Or do you want to know how our Hydrification works?"

Suigetsu fidgeted under the blanket of the kotatsu, "Okay, I get it…"

"Good."

Mangetsu paid for their meal and then they were off again. By late afternoon they had trekked to the far side of the valley, and signs of civilization were few and far between. The sun was sinking in the sky a bit too rapidly for Mangetsu's taste. Suigetsu's slow trudge was not letting them cover a lot of ground.

The snow drifts were also getting deeper. Mangetsu had to lift his little brother up when he had been swallowed from the waist down in snow, "Whoa!"

Suigetsu was pulled onto his brother's back again. Mangetsu used chakra to move across the snow's surface. The little boy wrapped his arms around his brother's shoulders and asked, "Are we going to have to sleep outside?"

"I don't think so. It'd be horrible, if we had to."

"Where are we going again?"

"The Loft."

"That's where your friends are."

"Yeah."

Suigetsu patted his mittens on his brother's ears, wondering, "Can we get there before nighttime?"

"No way, kid. It's too far." Mangetsu stopped and looked to his right.

A flock of red-crowned cranes had gathered on the vast, white field. They were hopping around on their stilt-legs, dancing for mates.

"Ah, that's a sight I really needed." Mangetsu pointed out the large birds to Suigetsu, "Cranes are good luck and a symbol of longevity."

"They're big."

"Maybe to you, they are."

"How can they fly?"

"Beats me."

"Hey, what's…long…jev…itee?"

"Longevity. It means long life. It's a sign that we probably won't die tonight." Mangetsu chuckled, "Maybe we even get to grow old someday."

"Pff." Suigetsu said from behind his scarf.

They began to lose the light. Just before Mangetsu was about to accept their misfortune, he spied a triangular rooftop in the distance. He held tight to Suigetsu, secure on his back, and hurried, running over the long empty fields of an old farm. As they drew close they found that the farmer's residence was silent with no light in the windows. The gardens were stripped bare. The property's fences were intact but drooping under heavy snow.

"Look at that roof. It's sloped so that snow slides off." Mangetsu gestured to the Gassho-style farmhouse, "I don't think anyone has been here in a while."

"Don't go in!" Suigetsu whispered, his grip tightening on his brother's shoulders.

"Why not?"

"It's dark. There's probably animals and scary stuff in there."

"Then I'll beat 'em up." Mangetsu replied.

Mangetsu followed a stone walkway through a gate, and at the front door of the house he set Suigetsu down. He peered up at the wearing, straw-thatched roof of the building.  _'I've seen houses in worse shape…'_ He knocked once and then pushed open the unlocked door.

"Evening!" Mangetsu said conversationally, calling into the empty living space, "Anyone home?" He stepped inside and Suigetsu reluctantly followed him.

From what he could see in the dimness, it appeared that the former residents had up and moved. Furniture was disheveled and many household staples had been removed. Some items remained, like the hearth-hook above the square  _irori_. An old kettle still hung from the hook. The dark wood of the raised floor was garnished with dust.

"Keep your boots on. It's going to be cold in here until I get a fire going." Mangetsu advised his brother.

"Are you sure no one is here?"

"Pretty sure. I'll take a look around and check the second floor. See if you can find us things we can use."

They nodded in unison and then parted, starting to search in different directions. Suigetsu set down his small travel bag and began rummaging around. He found a few  _zabuton_ to make sitting on the floor more comfortable. He found the remaining contents of the tea chest held a single bowl and cup, and both were chipped. An old ladle, a broken vase, an old family scroll. Not much of anything leftover was useful.

Mangetsu returned from his top floor survey with thick quilts and sleeping mats. He set them down beside the stone trimming of the sunken hearth. It felt like sacrilege for Suigetsu to walk over tatami mats with shoes on, but Mangetsu waved off his concerns, "Relax. This place is abandoned. These mats weren't well cared for anyway."

The former swordsman leaned over to add kindling and fuel to the fire pit of the  _irori._ Suigetsu watched in fascination as his brother struck a kunai to flint, igniting a frayed piece of cotton. Soon the kindling and old parchment in the pit were alight. Mangetsu then tossed a heavy blanket onto his brother. Suigetsu stuck his head out from under it and laughed.

"We were lucky tonight." Mangetsu observed, "I didn't think we'd find a single thing in here we could use."

"Well there's nothing to eat or drink." Suigetsu pointed out, yawning.

"We'll take care of that tomorrow."

They watched the fire grow, and over time Mangetsu added flammable materials to it, prodding it with an iron poker. Suigetsu arranged the mats and blankets near the hearth. He burrowed beneath a quilt and kept his face free, watching his brother's expression that was shadowed by trembling firelight.

Mangetsu was thinking deeply. When he was like this he often sat stock-still, and Suigetsu would watch the rise and fall of his brother's chest to confirm he was alive.

"How much further do we have to go?" Suigetsu asked.

After a long moment of silence Mangetsu spoke, "Can't be sure. Bad weather and ninja might slow us down. We're a week away by foot, if nothing happens."

"Aw man."

"Something will probably happen." Mangetsu added.

"Won't any of your friends come find us and help us? Like the one who came to our house."

"Shon was only there to give me a warning. They all have their own problems, I'm sure." Mangetsu surmised, "And, quite frankly, we don't need their help. You're traveling with  **me** , kiddo. The greatest swordsman there ever was."

"Heh," Suigetsu pulled the blanket up beneath his nose, "Guess you're right…"

"We may not be able to use inns during our trip. Sometimes we'll need to stay in shacks and old houses, things like that. We may not have food to eat every day, but once we get to the Loft we'll be fine." After prodding the fire one last time, Mangetsu slipped beneath a quilt, "Ninja shouldn't be a problem. The weather's been bad and I can take on just about anyone."

"You can use any sword you want!" Suigetsu encouraged.

"I wish." Mangetsu stretched an arm over his head and bent his back, overcome by an enormous yawn. Then he laid flat on the mats again, "I only have three in the Master Scroll right now. And I have Hansha, too."

Suigetsu slapped the grass-thatched floor with his hand, shocked, "You have Hansha? I thought Dad said only he could use it."

"I took it away from him." Mangetsu scoffed, "A drunk jerk like him doesn't need our clan's heirloom sword."

"Where is it?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Mangetsu grinned at his little brother.

"Ohh, let me see it, bro!"

"No way."

"Come on!"

"Until I have a good reason to use it, you don't need to see it."

"Hmf." Suigetsu pulled the blanket over his head to pout.

The crackling of the fire harmonized with the low, whistling wind of night outside.

Suigetsu felt tapping on top of his head. He poked his face out again to see his brother had scooched over, smiling his slanted, toothy smile.

"What?" The small boy puffed.

"You were tough today. You made it farther than I thought you would."

Suigetsu rolled onto his back on the mat, "You still had to carry me, though."

"I was prepared to. It's hard to travel when you're small." Mangetsu raised his arm as if reaching for the ceiling. Suigetsu watched the firelight bend and stretch shadows as his brother's arm expanded, widened with muscle. "But you can be strong when you need to be. If you practice controlling Hydrification, you can expand the muscles in your body. I don't think you're too young to try it."

"Could I really?"

"Give it a try. Hold up your arm and instead of liquefying…er…" He tried to describe it so his brother would understand, "Instead of spreading out or scattering yourself, like how you want to before you get hurt; pull inward and condense. Get bigger from the inside."

Suigetsu held up his arm and frowned at it for a long while. Mangetsu supposed he had the correct mentality, as his brother had not accidentally splashed apart from the attempt. He was trying to find the way to reorganize his composition.

"This is tricky." Suigetsu admitted.

"Keep at it. That extra strength will let you smash things and lift heavy swords." Mangetsu winked at him again.

"Yeah!" Suigetsu chirped, and for a long while he tried to influence his muscles.

After his arm ballooned once, awkwardly, the boy puffed in exhaustion and fell still. He snuggled up under his quilt, "I'll try again tomorrow."

"Good. Tomorrow, then. I want you to be able to punch a shinobi in the face if you ever get cornered without me. That could end up saving your neck."

"Can I learn other Hydrification tricks?"

"Sure. I'll show you how to vibrate tomorrow so you can warm up in a pinch."

"Cool." Suigetsu watched Mangetsu demonstrate, a shuddering pulse coursed through his body and moved like a wave from top to bottom.

"Get your rest now." His brother advised him, "Tomorrow you won't be carried again."

* * *

Kuina arrived at the hospital in the chilled dark of night to begin a shift at 11:00. The new commute from her home with Kamisori into the urban hub of Kirigakure was, admittedly, a bit long. It would take getting used to.  _'Especially when everything is frozen over like this…'_ Allegedly, winter did not bother Kamisori. It was a season he could "work with," he said.

The kunoichi stopped in the lobby to adjust a blanket covering a patient in a wheelchair. Then, she proceeded to the Shinobi-Trauma ward. She was also scheduled to do a pass in the Surgery Division and join a briefing on transplants,  _'Although I am not quite sure why they'd want to see me this time of year. It's not my usual field. Organ donors are fewer now that battles have died down…and we didn't admit many recipients.'_

When Kuina arrived at the main desk of the department there was another medic-nin signing in for the night shift. He hunched over the counter and grimaced at a clipboard, listening absently to the previous shift's nurse rattling off notes and schedules to him. Kuina stood still, reverent of the medic-nin in front of her, and watched as he suddenly lashed out and bashed one of the seated nurses over the head with the clipboard. The bludgeoned assistant was Taki, the infamously useless medic-nin who was still employed for some reason. He jerked awake with a small shriek.

"The fuck are you sleeping for-?" The now on-shift medic roared, "Do you have the patient chart for me? Eh? Worthless, turtle-faced clod…" He ripped a stack of papers from the young man's hands, "Get out of my ward and go look for your next job. I'm forwarding my newest write-up about you to the Mizukage."

"B-But Takamine-san…"

"Get out, Taki. Out! Understand?" The veteran medic was wild-eyed as he launched himself over the desk (ignoring the screeches of nurses) and violently thrust Taki from a rolling chair, "Straight out the door. No paycheck! Get lost. I'm deleting you from every spreadsheet. By God, what the hell was I waiting for?"

"Sir! I was only resting my eyes-!"

Takamine-san slugged the boy right between the eyes and Taki skidded in his scrubs across the tile floor. Kuina covered her mouth with both hands, hoping an inappropriately timed sound of delight would not escape her.

After Taki had fled the rowdy man in the white lab coat rounded on Kuina, "Are you just gonna stand there like a statue, Arashino-kun? Move your ass!"

"Yes, sir!"

Kuina darted over to the desk and gave an apologetic look to the nurses reordering the station.

"How the hell are you? I haven't seen you in ten months." The man calmed down a little.

"I'm fine. I got promoted."

"Ah. So you're Chief Medic now? That was supposed to be my title."

"It might've been yours if you weren't abroad so much." She conceded.

"My research is critical." He insisted. He plucked a tissue from a box to loudly blow his nose and then added, "I moved up through the Land of Tea and had several interviews in the Land of Fire too. Almost took a job there…then my old fartknocker mother begged me to come back to Mist…"

Kuina swallowed her mirth.  _'Hold it in…'_ One wrong move and he would be bashing her head in next,  _'And I'll be fired and sent skidding out the door.'_

"You've been busy while I've been gone." He arched an eyebrow at her, "Walk with me. I've got charting to do."

"Do you want me to check telemetry charts-?"

"No, Chucklefucks. I stuck So-Eun on the monitor. She's a cardiogenic wiz."

Kuina muttered under her breath, "How do you know that? I'm the one who's worked with her for ten months…"

"I know everyone. Specifically, I know every medic-nin in this village." The man grumbled, "I trained almost every single one of you clowns."

"Right." She stood beside him and held up a tray as he arranged medications to distribute, "So did you have a meeting with Mizukage-sama when you returned, Jokichi-danna?"

"Holy hell, do  _not_ call me that." He roughly took the tray from her, "It's just Jokichi."

He was Takamine Jokichi, the veteran Medic-nin of Kirigakure and seasoned grouch. He had taken Kuina under his wing when she was seventeen years old, well over a decade ago, to nurture her budding interest in healing techniques.  _'Eh…nurture does not sound like the correct word…'_  She thought to herself as they stopped at the first room. Kuina had originally met the man because he was the best friend of her sensei, Higashikuni. These days she had no idea if they still kept in touch.

"Yeah, I had a meeting with the Mizukage. I blew a lot of hot air up his ass and got my preferred work schedule back." Jokichi informed her, "Of course there were plenty of things I didn't tell him about my trip or my research."

"Can you tell me?" She was intrigued.

Jokichi made a shrugging motion with his face, "If you keep your mouth shut."

She pursed her lips and followed after him.

Inside the recovery room, Kuina made small talk with the patient resting in bed; his leg was elevated in a cast, his head thickly bandaged. He was a Genin who had a recent mishap on a mission with his team. "Sensei and my teammates said they'll visit in the morning." The boy yawned happily. Jokichi spoke only to ask questions while he filled out the patient's chart. The Genin was then given water and medication and asked to sleep.

"It's almost never this empty in the trauma ward." Kuina noted as they proceeded down the hall, "A lot of the fighting died down for the winter."

"Don't get a false sense of security." Jokichi warned, "This is a perfect time for the Yuki clan to make a move."

"I probably would have heard about it."

He raised a tufted eyebrow at her, "Really? So you're an Intelligence Officer too?"

"No, it's just…" She tried to backpedal, realizing she had divulged a bit much.

"What?"

Her explanation came in fragments, "I'm getting married. To one."

"Whoa Chuckles, you're marrying a rebel?" Jokichi continued the conversation in the room of an unconscious patient, "You're as crazy as Higashikuni, if you're doing that intentionally."

"First of all, no one is as crazy as Higa-sensei. Second of all, while it  _is_ an intentional choice, Kamisori is a loyalist for the Mist Village. A double-agent." Kuina asserted, "And I really love him."

"Yuki. Kamisori." He roughly adjusted the monitor as he repeated the name, "Young lady… _who_ is he a double-agent for? How are you certain he isn't double-crossing the Mizukage?" Jokichi asked as he began the next chart, "Don't you know what his  _last job_  was?"

Kuina frowned for a long moment, "Not exactly."

"Ask him." The man smiled sadistically, " _Then_  think about getting married."

"I trust him with my life."

"You are much too trusting."

"I don't need a wandering doctor to criticize the choices I make as an adult." Kuina snapped at him, plugging in names and times on a whiteboard in marker, "You had that right back when I was an idiot teenager, Jokichi, but now I technically outrank you."

"Oh." Jokichi paused in his work to look at her. The silence was punctuated by the  _boops_ of the pressure monitor. He stooped down and lifted the plastic-lined trash bin, holding it up for her, "Look in here. What's in here?"

She replied uncertainly, "It's empty…"

"Right. All the fucks I give fit neatly in this garbage can." Jokichi growled, "Did you get a good look,  _Chief Medic_?"

He tossed the bin down with a clamor and the sleeping patient did not react to the noise. Kuina quietly scolded him.

Jokichi continued to mutter angrily as they moved down the hallway again, "Outrank me…giving me…guff…" He looked over his shoulder, glowering, "You're an emotional, optimistic kind of girl. I've always known that since I first met you. Things are never quite as nice as you  _believe they are,_ Kuina."

"I acknowledge that." She took over completing the chart.

"I don't need you to be skeptical of me. Disparaging me…I saved your ass. I taught you how to be a medic-nin when Higashikuni wanted to put a sword in your hand and make you an assassin." Jokichi reminded her, "You were going to do it. You remember what changed your mind, Kuina? Why you wanted to save lives?"

"Let's not talk about it." Kuina suggested calmly.

"Your dumbfuck of a boyfriend: Ashikaga Weno. It was just the two of you, I remember. Two teammates. When Higashikuni took your Genin team on as a first-and-only-one-time sensei, he let the third kid die in the fourth week." Jokichi exclaimed in disgust, "God he's hopeless! I thought you Genin were goners after one of you didn't come back from a mission. Thought your sensei was an unconscionable fuck up…"

"He was." Kuina agreed quietly.

"Higashikuni didn't know what he was doing when he took a break from being a Swordsman…" Jokichi sighed, "But he wanted to do  _something_ constructive. Somehow you and Weno survived, and next thing I knew you were Chunin. I thought, hey! They're getting it!  _He's getting it._ That beard-for-brains Higa didn't kill you." He began hooking up an infusion set and added, "And then I come back from a trip and hear that Weno's a drug addict."

"Remember when I asked you to not talk about this?" Kuina hissed as she scribbled on a whiteboard, "Don't."

"You wanted to save him. You tried again and again. Thought you could pry that shit out of his hands and hiding spots, get rid of it…like the cartels in the Water Country didn't know how to sniff out a recovering junkie." Jokichi laughed softly to himself, "You wanted to know how to  _fix people_ , you said. And I told you that's not how it works. He has to  _want to get fixed._ "

After the IV drip was hooked up and the chart complete, Kuina stormed out of the room. She took a seat on a maroon-upholstered bench in the white, echoing hallway. She had a full five minutes of silent fuming before Jokichi ventured out and sat beside her.

"He let you down, Chuckles, there's no denying that. If I had a ryo for every time that kid told you he quit, I'd be one rich motherfucker." Jokichi's voice softened, "Higashikuni was at his wits' end with him. Helping him. The two of you really did try."

"Weno used to say he loved me more than his fix." Kuina recalled distantly, "Then I would watch him go out and buy one."

"Yeah."

"I'm not sure why he always thought he was pulling one over on me." Tension seeped out of Kuina as she rubbed her chin, "I think it was all in his head. How he thought it all worked, that he had everyone fooled…Weno had convinced himself that he wasn't hurting me. That he wasn't hurting himself."

"Ah, Weno…" Jokichi saluted the ceiling, "He was a damn good ninja though."

"He learned a lot from Higa-sensei."

"I heard. And how did he repay his Master? He overdosed on the man's kitchen floor." Jokichi looked sidelong at Kuina, "Bet that's why you don't visit Higashikuni's house anymore, right? That's where you found him."

"Yeah. Sensei was out on a mission. Weno used to shoot up there so I wouldn't catch him."

"Worked spectacularly…until it didn't."

"Did Higa-sensei tell you that I don't visit anymore?"

"Yeah, I spoke to him last week." Jokichi began rubbing his palms on his knees; his hands were cold, "He said you don't even visit to see Chojuro."

"I met Chojuro when he was a baby."

"Well he  _talks_ now." Jokichi informed her, "You don't need to hide from Higashikuni. A visit is not going to spontaneously transport you to the past to see your dead boyfriend's face. You don't suffer from PTSD or flashbacks, or any of that kind of shit. You'll probably just go over there and end up drinking a lot of liquor; discuss some politics with Higa."

"Probably." She yielded.

"Talk about Kamisori too." Jokichi advised, "Your sensei knows him well."

"Come to think of it…Kamisori did mention Sensei a few times…"

"It's a small world." Jokichi pushed himself to his feet, "Let's get this floor done before my ass goes numb."

They concluded charting and late-night care for patients and at one point had to double-back when the Genin woke again, thirsty and pleading for water. Another on-duty nurse followed their evaluations and checked vital signs of patients in the ward. Jokichi stopped in the restroom, "Wait out here, I've got to take a huge shit." And then they moved on together to the surgery floor. Guo was already there waiting for them.

"Perfect timing, Senpai." The young man smiled at Kuina and maintained the expression as Jokichi lumbered towards him, "Our patient was just delivered from a mission and ordered here for an experimental procedure." He nodded politely to Jokichi, "Jokichi-danna, it's good to see you."

"Don't  _fucking call me that._ " The old medic growled.

Within the unit they put on hair nets and face masks, scrubbing their hands vigorously at the sink. Jokichi enlightened them of the purpose of a late-night operation.

"The Mizukage wants us to get some practice with eye surgeries. This Chunin just came in with severe lacerations, must have been one hell of a knife-fight. We'll fix up the rest of his face and make him pretty too." The man came to a stop beside the operating techs who were sedating the patient on a table, "The donor should be coming in any second now. Civilian. Terminal patient gave consent to donate an eye. Apparently these two are beloved cousins or something like that."

"It's a nice sentiment." Kuina supposed.

"Yeah, well…when you consider this is only to prepare us for the big operation in a week or so, it doesn't feel so warm and fluffy." Jokichi informed her, "Hunter-ninja captured a spy with a Doujutsu."

Kuina's eyes danced above her face mask, shocked, "The Mist Village came into possession of a Doujutsu?"

"A big one." Guo whispered, "A member of the Hyuga clan was taken in after a battle. Mizukage-sama wants us to transplant an eye into one of our Sensor-ninja and make use of it."

"I can hardly believe it…" She breathed.

"It's nuts. Kyonjin told me to handle it with kid gloves and not fuck up. Wants us 100 percent ready to transplant the Byakugan…" Jokichi was examining the second patient's vitals on a monitor, "Keep chakra pathways alive and all of those complex details, ah, I've done it before. You just never hear about a Hyuga whose eyes don't melt in their head when you try to take an eye from 'em, living or dead."

"He must be from the Main House. That's why it's possible." Guo concluded, "Kyonjin-sama wants us to visit the prisoner in the Detainment Block and make sure he's in good health. He's being well-cared for, at least."

"Will they let him go after all of this?" Kuina wondered.

"No." Jokichi said solemnly, "Why would we bother doing that? I doubt Leaf wants their damaged goods returned. No one is gonna care."

Kuina bit her lip and kept her opinion to herself. The injustice of the situation was devouring her.

"You're such a bleeding heart, Kuina." Jokichi sighed, beginning to assess the donor's left eye, "The Mizukage signed you on for that transplant, so suck it up. Months back I was in a gambling house with Tsunade-hime, and even  _she_ doesn't give a fuck what happens to Leaf and its people. Why should you?"

"Tsunade-hime?" Kuina and Guo questioned in unison.

"Yeah. We talked techniques over drinks after I beat her in a game. It's good business. She's not shy about opening up to other medic-nin, it so happens, but she is one spiteful cuntwagon. She blames Leaf for the deaths of her loved ones. She walked out of there and never looked back." Jokichi made a small incision with a chakra-scalpel, "That woman also has a pet pig. And a slave or assistant or something."

"Weird." Guo muttered. With Kuina's assistance, he was preparing the Chunin's now-empty eye socket and healing the surrounding tissues.

"Did she share any important techniques with you, Jokichi?" Kuina wondered, "She's a legend. That would be a very big deal."

"I'm sure you're dying to know, but that's between me and the princess. Like I said, there are some things I didn't mention to the Mizukage. Sometimes secrets should stay secrets, you know?"

An operating tech to Jokichi's right had the gall to chime in, "This isn't a social hour. Why don't you save your discussion for the post-op?"

Jokichi carefully moved his hand away from the donor's face and bent, landing a high-kick on the tech's chin. The man's head hit a positioned overhead light and he fell over onto a monitor.

"Who the fuck asked you? Techface." Jokichi resumed the extraction, "I haven't seen Kuina and Guo in almost a year. I'll catch up when I want to catch up. You know how many eyes I've transplanted? This will make twenty."

The other non-ninja tech politely moved a tray out of the way so that Jokichi could move with the eye in hand to the recipient. "I don't see any harm in talking if you can still concentrate." The woman chirped.

"Way to kiss some ass." Jokichi grumbled, continuing his work, "But you're right, Ikue. We'll get this done. Sorry I kicked your coworker."

She shrugged.

* * *

At 6:55AM, Kuina signed out at the nurse's station and gave her notes to the next medic on shift. She and her companions trudged out of the hospital and into the dim light of morning. Jokichi joined her and Guo for breakfast at a diner down the road. Pantomiming and cursing, Jokichi bullied the waiter on the opposite side of the door into opening five minutes early. The defeated worker unlocked and let them inside.

They were seated at a booth and a short time later served the food they ordered. Kuina and Jokichi both enjoyed rice with spicy fish roe and a huge bowl of soup, though Guo ordered chilled tofu and salad.

"What? You're not eating meat now?" Jokichi gruffed at Kuina's apprentice.

"I'm vegan."

Kuina jumped in with the definition when Jokichi appeared clueless, "That means he doesn't eat animal-derived foods."

"I know what it means, Chucklefucks." The veteran sniffed, turning back to the young medic-nin, "Eh, a woman made you eat that way, I bet."

"My girlfriend didn't make me, she just suggested it."

"He's got a girlfriend." Jokichi exchanged an incredulous glance with Kuina.

Kuina recovered quickly and complimented her friend, "I'm glad you're eating well, Guo. Your complexion has been looking a lot better, I've noticed."

"Thanks."

Jokichi prodded Kuina, "Are you skimming over the fact that this nerdy fuck has a girlfriend?" He added to Guo, "Shit, how old are you? Like, sixteen? That's what I thought."

"Nineteen. Please stop acting so shocked, sir."

"Your apprentice is growing up fast." Jokichi nudged Kuina in the ribs; in response she scooched away down the booth's seat.

"Quit picking on Guo. Me too. You shouldn't antagonize us when we are the last two people in this village who genuinely respect you." Kuina chastised him. She stuffed the last of her rice in her mouth, "I've got to run. The way home is long and I really want some sleep."

"Go ahead, Senpai. I'll pay for you." Guo offered.

Jokichi frowned at her, "You live in Mist."

"I moved. I'm just outside of the village now."

"Really? Whereabouts?" He pressed.

"It's like you said, sir, some secrets should stay secrets." She gave him a patronizing wink. Kuina shifted over and stood to pull on her heavy jacket, "Thank you, Guo. I'll pay for you next time."

"You can't just  _leave_ on that note, Kuina. You mean to tell me you already moved in with that snow-boy?" The veteran medic was waving his chopsticks in a concerned circle.

"I already told you I was serious."

"Kuina, don't you know he's-?" Jokichi's comment was cut off after she bustled out the door.

She was, quite frankly, tired of hearing people tell her the same thing. That Kamisori was a bad idea. That he had a controversial reputation that she had not quite yet assembled all the pieces of.

The kunoichi made bouncy leaps from rooftop to rooftop as she approached the border of the village.  _'It seems like everyone needs to weigh in on my personal life…On a professional level they respect me and count on me for leadership, especially if someone needs saving. Even as a ninja no one doubts me, but what I do in my own home and_ who  _I do it with is none of their damn business.'_ It really wasn't. They were all aware of that even as they ran their mouths off, but alas, people in Kirigakure had a bad case of the know-it-alls. Blurting out pessimism was the norm.

The first rays of sunlight gleamed over the tiles and laid-stone facades of buildings. The architecture of the village was quite beautiful, Kuina thought, as the frost of winter clung to stone and seashells on stucco. It shined like precious gems. As time passed her mind dwelled less on the aesthetic and more on the frigid temperature. When she realized she was only a quarter of the way into her commute, Kuina shivered violently. The wind was picking up and cutting through her.

Jokichi was the same as she remembered. Temperamental. Intelligent. Somewhat bossy. Maybe he was right about visiting her sensei. She only avoided Higashikuni because he reminded her of the past,  _'And of Weno.'_ He was not a bad or dislikable person. He had treated her well as a student during the time they spent together as a team.  _'Maybe this is a good time of year to see him. I don't think Higa-sensei will be deployed to lead squadrons as much if there's a winter-ceasefire.'_ Although there was no official ceasefire, yet. Jokichi had mentioned that too.

Past the steep perimeter hills of the village and through the pine glades along the retaining wall, Kuina entered the deep silence of the land beyond.  _'Man, what a long trip…'_ Now she understood why Kamisori had been so content to shack up with her within the village. Getting to and from the Loft felt like an expedition,  _'And in winter it feels like a polar-trek!'_

While the wind pricked at her face and hands, Kuina hustled through the forest. The vast wilderness stretched with coniferous trees, dark green dripping with white, and the trunks grew taller and fatter as she went. Before long, she was surrounded by the gigantic, magnificent redwoods that stood solidly in the deep banks of snow. She followed the route she had been taught and was wary of the tracks she left, doubling back a few times to leave her footprints on several snow-covered limbs.

Tucked on the far side of the dorsal-fin peaks of the island, she at last came upon the lonely forest that was utterly forsaken by civilization. The Loft house peeked out from beneath snow, worked craftily into treetops. She took a leap up to the  _engawa_  of the house, minding her head as icicles loomed over the veranda. At the front door Kuina slid the screen aside and hurried in, calling softly, "I'm home!"

She removed her boots in the genkan and then stepped into house slippers. She hung her jacket in a small closet beside the entryway. The hardwood floors throughout the sprawling home were chilled. There was a small fire going in the old  _irori_ hearth in the far left corner, but that was never enough to heat the tree-castle, Kamisori said. He had promised that he would pick up electric blankets and a kotatsu soon. Kuina shuffled over to the hearth and prodded at the fire,  _'I feel like a weary traveler. My bones are creaking…it's terrible traveling in this weather.'_

What she really wanted, Kuina decided as she slipped down the long hallway, was to find a warm place to sleep. And she also wanted to find a person in the warm place she liked to sleep.

She slid aside the bedroom door and closed it quietly behind her. Her heart felt like it was on an elevator-pulley, zooming up and down her chest at the sight of Kamisori deeply asleep. Well, that's what she assumed. She could only see a few white hairs from the top of his head poking out from beneath a heavy, ivory comforter.  _'Ah! Sleeping like a baby.'_ Kuina tiptoed around the room to change clothes,  _'He said he had a few days off. Better keep quiet and not ruin this for him…'_

Peeking from around the wardrobe door as she disrobed, Kuina considered that their bed was the only one in the house.  _'Every other room is traditional and stocked with futon for sleeping. I guess the old drug lord—ahem, previous homeowner didn't want his guests to be as comfortable as him.'_ She pulled on a marled blue tunic that stopped at her thighs. The air in the room was so stale and frigid that she thought underwear, pants, and socks may be in order. Instead she shut the closet and trudged away, too tired to continue dressing,  _'I just kick off socks in the middle of the night anyway.'_

The bed was as lusciously comfortable as Kamisori had made it look from across the room. Kuina burrowed her way beneath the poofy comforter and stretched out her hands. Her fingertips traced his arm and bare chest. She took the space beside him and he didn't budge, his face sunken into a down pillow.  _'He always sleeps naked.'_ She thought with wonderment. Kamisori, given the choice, was happy to ditch clothes if there was a bed and blanket involved. But in the stark December cold she wondered if he and the Yuki clan were truly winter-immune or if Kamisori was just a weird, weird man.

Kuina let her head sink back into her own pillow, and after glancing at the arms of the numberless clock on the bedside table, 8:15AM, she shut her eyes and left the conscious world.

When she woke again Kamisori was having a conversation with her. At least, that's what her ears detected. Though she was asleep and not answering him, he carried on talking quietly, probably with the intention of waking her. Kuina eeked open an eye to glimpse the clock to her left: 12:05PM. The scoundrel. Couldn't she get more than four hours?

"Ah." Kamisori said when he noticed her eye open, "Good afternoon, Kuina."

"No." She objected hoarsely, "Stop talking. I was quiet while you were asleep and I'd like the same courtesy. Can it, mister."

"I missed you." His lips curved into a smile. He was balancing his chin on the heel of his hand, laying stomach-down beside her.

"Shh."

"You didn't wake up earlier and I must have been talking to you for thirty minutes."

"Maybe that's why I was having crazy dreams. Shh."

Kamisori went on, "I was trying to catch up with you; tell you what I've been up to since you left last night."

"Mmmgmm." She implored, squeezing her eyes shut.

"You'd rather talk later?" He interpreted her noises, "My…you must've had an eventful shift. You're always up for conversation, Kuina. I know you need your rest, but if you catch up with me now I promise I'll reward you."

She furrowed her eyebrows, or more likely her whole face, "If that reward involves me sleeping the rest of the day away…go ahead."

"It  _does_ involve that." He assured her.

Kuina sighed in relief. That meant he would do the shopping. The cooking. Heating the house. Whatever. He just signed himself up in exchange for pillow talk.  _'What a sucker.'_

Kamisori shifted to lay on his back and pulled her close. Kuina dozed with her head tucked beneath his chin,  _'Huh, this is pretty nice. I guess I could let him gab for a little while.'_

"As I was saying before, I think you can benefit from the Ptarmigan Contract, if you want it. It's a good way to correspond when we're apart and I can track you if I need to. You can start with Debumaru."

Her brain was foggy. "Who's Debumaru?" She asked slushily against his chest.

"The bird on our roof."

"Ooooh." Kuina's voice was rough, "That fluffy, white thing? His name is literally Tubby-Boy."

"It is, but I didn't name him that."

"I bet the great bird elders are named Rolly-Beak and Greasy-Wing."

"I have no idea. Probably."

She nuzzled closer and draped her leg over his, "I'll think about it. A summoning contract might be helpful…"

"Good. So how was your shift?"

"Crasser than usual. Takamine Jokichi was assigned to the same ward as me." Kuina yawned, "He trained me as a medic-nin a long time ago. He's been traveling for almost a year to gather techniques. I was really surprised to see him."

"That name seems familiar…"

"He's Higa-sensei's friend, but he's way more creative with profanity."

"Ah." Kamisori plucked listlessly at her nightshirt, "That's right. The veteran medic."

"That one."

"Not very likable."

"Some may say that about you too, Sori."

"…point taken."

"So how do you know Higa-sensei?" She ventured curiously. Jokichi had been so mysterious about it. Ominous.

"Like how I know most colleagues; I used to take missions with him."

"He never mentioned you." She yawned again.

"I never gave him a reason to." Kamisori admitted, "Back then…I didn't talk much."

"You're a better communicator now."

"I suppose."

"Later we had to report to the O.R. for an eye transplant. I was told it was to prepare us from transplanting the Byakugan of one of our prisoners." When she said it, they both shifted their heads to look at each other, "Did you hear about that at all?"

"No." He was wide-eyed, "Mist took a member of the Main House Hyuga?"

"That's what Jokichi said." Kuina tucked her head down again, mumbling, "I kind of feel bad. I don't really want to do it."

"If you don't want Kyonjin to throw  _you_ in prison, you had better do it."

"You wouldn't let him." Her words were soft and childish.

Kamisori made an affirmative sound before he assured her, "I wouldn't. Or at the very least I would break you out of the detainment hold."

"Hm…I heard no one gets out of there alive. There's an ex-Hunter unit commander running the prison as the Warden now."

Kamisori sighed, "Well…I could probably help you escape, but I couldn't fight the Warden and live."

"Sure you could." She yawned again.

"Kuina…" He was stroking her shoulder gently, "You don't know very much about…the people the Mizukage has surrounded himself with, do you? The rare ninja he keeps close."

"Like you and me?"

"No, I mean the exceptional ninja who shadow his steps. Like Hayago." He said the name harshly, "Your good friend, Toyotomi Hayago. He's a veteran who's won every battle he's ever been in."

"I knew that."

"But you don't know  _why_. You don't know about his ability." Kamisori explained, "Just like those who thought they could cross the Warden who has guarded our jail cells for the last five years…those fools met their end."

"I heard there was a big fight at the jail, once. With the new Warden."

"Terumi Tanda was dismissed as the previous Warden because of his connections to the rebellion. He did try to dispute it and clear his name, but the new Warden was told to dispose of him."

"Huh, I heard of Tanda. He was strong. Higa-sensei told me he had the Boil Release."

"That Kekkei Genkai didn't matter much against a ninja who is immortal." Kamisori told her. She gave him an incredulous look.

He continued, "You don't understand the level of ninja the Mizukage keeps in his cabinet."

"No one is immortal, Kamisori."

He sighed, "That's what we're supposed to think."

"So the long and short of it is; we don't want to get thrown in jail."

"Exactly. It won't end well. Also, it's a terrible place to pick a fight."

"Well I can at least understand  _that._ " She conceded.

"You're very fortunate you've never been on the wrong side of the law—or the wrong side of the Mizukage. At least now if you choose a rebellious lifestyle I'm here to protect you."

"That's sweet." She pulled the blanket up higher to warm her frozen nose, "I don't think I'm destined for trouble, Sori. And you know, for a man who is not in jail right now, you know an awful lot about criminal activity and punishment."

"I speak from experience."

"Have you ever been on the Mizukage's bad side?"

"Once." Kamisori admitted, "And to avoid a severe punishment I agreed to do the basest of things to secure our village's, and his, safety."

She moved up and pulled a pillow beneath her head to get a good look at him. There was a haunted, ashy look on his face. As if he had swapped one kind of evil for another. But his narrow, mono-lid eyes seemed so sad, watery-blue on the right and ice-blue on the left. A mismatch. Like a good person who was told to do terrible things. Kuina sensed it, and privately felt that it was inevitable that she too would be in that position someday.

"You're not a bad guy, you know." She reminded him in a scratchy voice.

He shut his eyes while facing her, making an attempt to believe those words.

Kuina let her hand rest over his belly button and her fingertips traced along the rim. He almost laughed but the sound stuck in his throat. She glimpsed beneath the comforter and he felt her stroking what she had once called "the happy trail."

"And you also know," She reported from beneath the blanket, "That your drapes don't match the carpet. It's like…dark silver down there."

"I didn't know they had to match." He smirked a little.

"They don't have to." Kuina popped back up, "Say, why do you sleep naked in winter?"

"Because I always do."

"Don't Yuki get cold at all?"

"Not really, especially while exerting their Blood Limit, they don't. We're simply used to it." Kamisori explained, fiddling with her nightshirt again, "And if I were a full-blooded Yuki I wouldn't look the way I do."

"So then…you're not?" She squeaked from under the covers. Even if  _he_ wasn't cold, she definitely was.

"My mother was given to my clan as an act of camaraderie, and also because of her lack of a Kekkei Genkai. She had white hair like mine."

"Oh." Kuina smiled at him for a long moment, "Will you tell me about your family?"

Kamisori fell unusually quiet.

"I'd like to meet them." Kuina added, "You met my father."

"You can't. There is no one left worth meeting." Kamisori replied shortly.

"But your parents-?"

Cornered and slightly annoyed, Kamisori cut her off with a freight-train narrative, "My father was Yuki Miketoki, Jounin and former steward of the Yuki clan. He was introduced to and married Kaguya Narimo when she was brought to the clan estate at age eighteen. They got along uncommonly well. They were average, caring parents until my mother died of respiratory complications. A few years later my father was killed on a mission. I was eleven and intent on my Chunin promotion at the time."

He calmed down and took a breath, "My sister is Okimo, who always encouraged me to care about other people. She took up a relationship with a man from my clan, and he played cruel mind games with her until she ran away…I have no idea where Okimo has been for the last ten years. I couldn't introduce you even if I thought it was a good idea."

Kuina tried to produce words of understanding but she could only stare at him.

"As for the rest of the Yuki, they are despicable, conniving aristocrats who will do whatever it takes to eliminate their adversaries." He went on, "Kuina, please don't take it personally. I don't ever want to see them again if I can help it, and I certainly don't want them to offend the woman I will spend my life with."

"I understand. Sorry to bring that up." She laid a hand on the side of his face, "I didn't know how much it would bother you."

"It's alright." He wrapped an arm around her midsection, "Get more sleep now. I'll take care of the chores like I promised."

"Okay, but don't leave yet." Kuina requested, "Just stay here a bit longer."

He obliged without a word. Kamisori held her for a long while until she was deeply asleep. He watched snow fall in a slow waltz outside the window.

* * *

At the same time within the Hidden Mist Village, Haku was enjoying fresh air on the rooftop of Zabuza's apartment complex.

Snowflakes sifted down from the white sky, like the sugar his mother used to sprinkle on top of sweet bread. Haku traced the building's edge, following along the square perimeter as he silently mimed ninja hand seals. He had finished reading the Genin Training manual. He was into the thick of Chapter Three of the  _Tale of the Utterly Gutsy Shinobi_ too.

His fingers slipped easily through the motions. He had practiced them over the sink, in the bath, on his back on the sofa; everywhere he was allowed to be, Haku had practiced shinobi fundamentals. Zabuza had even left out kunai, shuriken, and throwing spines on the table for him to get familiar with their handling. "Throw 'em at this cabinet if you want." The man had instructed, drawing a black X in marker on the aged wood.

And that was how it started. Zabuza was out for hours, sometimes for days, but he would return with food and sometimes clothing. Haku had dressed more warmly for the winter; wearing a heavy blue gi over a sweater, and sporting a scarf two sizes too big for him.

In the long, solitary hours of boredom Haku would read or he would practice. When he could not stomach looking at print on paper or standing still to gather chakra, Haku threw open the screenless window and gulped down frigid air. He would go mad in this place. There was nothing else to do; no one to talk to for days. Haku desperately missed the stretching fields of his family's farm, following after his father with tools and pails, feeding their animals. He missed the sky above his head and the wind on his face.

So it was only natural he began to think about how he could bend Zabuza's rule without  _breaking_ the rule. It started with the newspaper in the hallway. Haku understood that he was not to be seen or  _risk_ anyone discovering him. But he had caught on to the routines of the building's inhabitants while Zabuza was away. He timed it so that all doors were shut, and the corridor rang with the static sound of emptiness. He crept out and looked around. He stole the day's newspaper from the end of the hall. At first, that was all he dared to do. Haku returned to the apartment and read the paper. Some of it he could not understand, but the front page always had miserable news about death, conspiracy, and food shortages.

The same day he had fuddled around and properly used the Clone jutsu for the first time, with no one around to congratulate him of course; Haku had snuck out and climbed the rooftop exit stairs. He went unseen and unheard, and shut the roof access door behind him. The cold and the wind stung his ears, but it was a sweet feeling. As if liberty and ice sang in harmony in his veins; some power he did not completely comprehend yet. He gazed out at the hills, the trees, and the laid-brick pathways in the distance, segmenting the village into portraits of an urban winter.

Haku repeated the stunt a second and third time successfully, never mentioning to Zabuza that he had been out and about. Eventually, he was caught anyway. The daily newspapers that Haku had been confiscating from a resident down the hall had been hoarded beneath his pile of books. Zabuza eyed them suspiciously and he reached for a copy, grunting, "You signed up for a subscription, huh?" He flung the paper across the room and it spun, sliding to a stop on the counter.

Haku sputtered at the man's anger. Zabuza stood over him and the boy shrunk, forcibly taking a seat on the sofa. The man bent and growled, his face was completely uncovered that evening. He braced an arm against the wall above Haku's head and bared his teeth, "Did I not make myself clear?"

"I-I…no one was-"

"Just because you don't see a resident or the mailman go by does  _not_ mean you are safe. A Black Ops sentry is not a threat you're  _going to see,_ got it? You could get reported or picked up." He leaned back and stood straight again, "And I'll let them do it. That'd be the end of it, Haku."

"I'm sorry." Haku squeaked, "But I couldn't take being inside anymore."

"I don't care. You do what I tell you. You're as good as dead otherwise."

He nodded meekly.

Zabuza backed off and continued unpacking groceries from a paper bag. His ire reduced to a low simmer. In an act of apology, Haku stood and scampered across the room to assist with putting supplies away. Zabuza did not say a word as the boy did it. He put a pan on the stove loudly, supposing the child could guess he was still displeased. If he was disobeyed again, Zabuza debated on how to issue a reprimand to procure the behavior he wanted. He could make a statement by leaving the boy out in the cold by himself and let him  _enjoy the outdoors_. Not that he'd  _really_ leave him there to be picked up by social services, but Haku could take the hint.

Haku had stilled and was watching Zabuza closely. The man was about to tell him to fetch two eggs when, from the corner of his eye, he witnessed the small boy move through hand seals,  _Dog, Boar, Ram,_ and a  _pop_  followed. Haku had transformed perfectly into Zabuza's likeness.

Without saying anything, Haku handed the egg carton to his caretaker while still in disguise. Zabuza accepted it and set it down, glancing over the transformation critically. Haku had gotten his likeness down to the stubble; his edged teeth, muscle, bad haircut and everything.

"Good." Zabuza decided.

Haku dissolved the transformation, "I can make clones too."

"Good. I thought I'd have to show you all of that."

"I practiced while I was outside."

His eye twitched in annoyance, "Hnf."

"I think I am still too slow with Substitution. I should be tested." The child admitted. He pulled up a chair to stand over the counter and dip pork cutlets in the egg wash Zabuza had made. "If I keep practicing outside-"

"You're  _not_ going out." Zabuza cut in fiercely, "Not without me."

Haku squinted his eyes and smiled. He breaded the cutlets and then handed them to Zabuza one at a time. The man added them to the hot oil of the pan.

"Do not disobey me again." Zabuza warned, "I'm taking a day off tomorrow. I'll train you. We'll work on your Supplementary Jutsu and throwing form," He gestured to the cabinet where notch-marks had missed the black X, "Your aim isn't so great."

"I know."

"Then it's a three-day mission after that. Lay low and wait, I'll have food here for you. When I get back I'll have more time off…so we should start packing."

"Packing?"

"We need to get out of here." Zabuza clarified. The pan was popping and spitting oil.

"Where would we go?" Haku halted in his work chopping green onions and radishes.

"To a place where no one is watching. You can train there without having to hide or wait for me." He explained.

"I'd like that."

They completed the construction of the evening meal and sat at the table to eat. While Haku stuffed himself, Zabuza watched him in silence. The gauntness of Haku's face had filled out. He had good color and muscle tone, even the fat he had sorely needed at his midsection, which had once been ribs. The vitamins and food had probably just stopped him short of becoming a skeleton. Chopsticks in Haku's hand were handled dexterously. He plucked up rice and vegetables and wolfed them down.

' _He's still a twiggy scarecrow.'_  Zabuza conceded as he chewed lazily,  _'But at least he looks human now.'_

Haku noticed he was being watched. He said nothing and leveled his gaze with Zabuza's calmly. He stopped eating while Zabuza continued. The silence was organic and they looked at each other for a long while, both considering how they were both mostly still alone, for days at a time, but had also gained all of the company they could ever need in the world.

They cleaned up after dinner and together went to the rooftop of the complex. Zabuza brought along a small wooden milk crate for Haku to attempt to Substitute himself with. He nicked the boy with kunai a few times, never seriously, and after a few ragged, sweaty endeavors, Haku had managed to Substitute himself fluidly. The sun was slowly sinking on the horizon, bathing clouds heavy with snow in plum-pink light.

Haku caught his breath. He watched the sunset for a time before Zabuza dared him, "Think you can catch me?" And he was goaded into a hopeless chase after a slippery quick Jounin who seemed to  _blur_ away from his outstretched hands. It was fun blemished with frustration. Haku came running around the bend of the rooftop access when a building resident pushed open the creaky door.

Haku skidded to a stop and watched as the heedless man lit up a cigarette to smoke on the roof. Zabuza promptly fitted his palm around the resident's neck and pushed him back through the doorway, explaining, "In use." And hurled the innocent smoker down the exit stairs.

Before the door swung shut, Haku could hear the victim cry, "Ack! Ow…You're a fucking psycho, Momochi! Bonafide psycho! The hell I ever do to you-?"

Haku clasped his hands and looked helplessly at his guardian. Zabuza reported, "He didn't see you."

He let out a breath.

They agreed that was enough practice. When the way was clear, they returned to the apartment and Haku felt his stomach twist and strain. Maybe running around after eating was not such a good idea, he reasoned, but if Zabuza did it without complaint then surely he could do the same. He waited on the sofa and read his book while Zabuza bathed.

' _Musasabi Naruto certainly does like his teammate Tsuyu a lot…'_ Haku flipped the page, frowning,  _'And he is hurt that their teammate Renge has abandoned them.'_ He wondered if he would ever know what it was like to appreciate or quarrel with teammates. Most of the chapter continued with Naruto and a substitute teammate, Nikaku, fighting and making wisecracks about donkeys. He marked the page and went to the washroom after Zabuza told him to use the hot water left over.

As he passed by the bedroom door that was slightly ajar, Haku glimpsed his guardian from behind, completely nude. Zabuza was roughly toweling his hair dry. Unaffected, Haku proceeded to the bathroom. He undressed himself and sat on a stool to clean off before entering the tub.

' _Father kind of looked like that.'_ He had bathed with his parents all the time, before the tragedy,  _'He did not have as many muscles, though, or scars.'_ Haku ran a damp cloth over his shoulders and down. His skin was alabaster white and unmarked, childishly soft. Someday, he imagined his body would be pocked with scars from battle. Zabuza had many. One particular, wild mark stretched diagonally from his right flank, stopping on the dimple of his lower back.  _'That probably hurt for a while…'_

Once clean, Haku stepped lightly into the tub to warm up. He sat with his arms wrapped around his knees, remembering how he had been scolded earlier. Zabuza's anger had reached inside of him to a place that far surpassed the fear he had felt during his father's attack. He had inflicted that terror with a word and a look. Haku did not want to imagine what it would be like provoking Zabuza to attack.

' _And then…as quickly as he had said those things…'_ It subsided. He'd been upset, but he did not want to stay that way. Maybe it was because he knew that he already had Haku's nonverbal cooperation and acknowledgment. That he would not disobey again.  _'I don't know…if he knew what I was thinking. It felt like he did. Since we first met, he's understood me.'_

His mother also used to  _know things_ , sometimes. Without saying anything, without doing much at all, she derived answers. Maybe this was a talent that all adults had?

' _Maybe not all of them.'_ Haku conceded, remembering how his father had not wanted to know or understand anything once prejudice blinded him to the love of his own family. How he and his mother would never hurt or betray him. How they'd been harmless.  _'He didn't understand at all…'_

He avoided getting his hair wet and soaked for a while. The cold air nipped him when he hopped out and dried off. Haku changed into night clothes he kept in a basket in the bathroom's hutch. He drained the tub and brushed his teeth with a brush that was obviously intended for an adult, but that was all Zabuza could find for him locally.

All the lights of the apartment had been extinguished when he left the washroom. He padded softly in bare feet into the dark bedroom, stopping only to gawk at the window. The half-moon was veiled by a curtain of heavy snowfall, a column of muted grey light shone in a rhombus on the floor. Haku scurried to the bed and leapt up, hurriedly pulling the blanket over his head.

To avoid nightmares, freezing, and a variety of other problems, Zabuza had allowed him to sleep there each night. Haku was quite pleased with the arrangement as the large bed was certainly more comfortable than the old cot at the farm. His parents had only owned one futon, so he had slept on straw and wool. But  _this thing,_ Haku thought, this novelty of modern society and comfort!  _'Ahh…'_  He would be much pickier about where he slept, probably for the rest of his life.

Zabuza was already asleep. He slept on his back and hardly moved at night. Haku crept a bit closer for warmth, careful not to jostle his companion, and then tucked the blanket under his chin. He fell asleep quickly, but only slept for a few hours, or was it minutes? Moonlight through the window had changed positions.

Haku had woken from a dream of staring at himself. Well, what he was convinced was himself, but older, in a reflection. A single, slim trail of blood rolled down from the top of the mirror he'd been looking into.

Haku laid on his back and rubbed his face with both hands, batting his eyes. No need to panic. All was copacetic. More and more, he dreamt of fighting. Of hiding. Of terrifying things. He dreamt of violent things he did not know how to do, but deep inside, maybe he did know how to do.  _'Maybe after all,'_ He supposed with his eyes trained on the ceiling,  _'I need to be a shinobi. Maybe there's no other way I can live.'_

He slipped his hands beneath the blanket. Haku was still for a while, but his anxiety pricked at him. He slowly practiced hand seals that he had memorized. This could be a useful application of time, Haku hoped. He'd made great progress with Supplementary techniques all on his own, tapped into his chakra with hardly an instruction. What he read and let his brain process could be made  _real,_ when he worked on it.

Zabuza reached over and stilled Haku, wrapping a large hand around an attempted  _Horse seal_. He peeked an eye open, "That's not sleeping. That's annoying."

"I can't sleep."

"It's because you read too much."

"That's all you let me do. I practice too." He kept his voice at a whisper. Not like anyone could hear what they were saying in the dead of night.

"Don't practice right now."

"I'll feel better if I do."

Zabuza rolled onto his side and gave him a long,  _really?_ look. What could go on in a kid's head that, even while at rest, he was still working, still struggling, while unconscious?

He fanned his hand out and folded the boy's hands into the  _Horse seal_ again. He rearranged Haku's fingers several times into other seals, somewhat intrigued by tiny hands that knew how to do so much. He then pulled Haku's arm up above his head, positioning his right hand into the  _Seal of Confrontation,_ a merging of _T_ _iger_ and  _Ram._

"The Hidden Mist jutsu is a staple of this land. I'll show you tomorrow." Zabuza informed him, "I think you'll get it."

"What is that seal?" His voice was faint and he relaxed his arms and settled down.

" _Confrontation._ It's used in many different ways; depending on where you come from and what you intend to do." The man explained, "There are many seals beyond the basic ones you've learned."

"You'll show me." Haku presumed.

"Yeah." He stretched out on his back again.

The boy seemed content after that.

Haku curled up awfully close, much too close, unaware that Momochi Zabuza was a very talented murderer and not so great a person. His face pressed into the man's cotton shirt and he did finally sleep.

Zabuza was still acclimating to the idea of a living organism sharing close quarters with him on a regular basis. Even the occasional whores he bought and fucked did not cling or stay for long. Teammates and squadron members kept a healthy distance. Since his Academy days, come to think of it, everyone did.

But no, a homeless street-urchin with the Hyoton had no qualms with cozying up to him. Granted, Haku had shot an ice spike or two through at least one of his parents, Zabuza gathered, but he was not sure if that was enough to make them kindred spirits. Compatible. Whatever. Maybe if this kid really was such a bright, intelligent superstar he would  _know better._

And on the rim of his growing shock and bewilderment that someone dared to get close, was a tiny but frightening iota of appreciation; an infinitesimal shred of gratitude that he could be important to someone else. It was an alien feeling. Warm and expanding, taking up the empty space that made up most of his life. Providing  _significance,_ he might venture.

Loving this little boy was clearly out of the question. The opportunity was there and the prospect tempting, but Zabuza had seen plenty of other powerful ninja get killed for it. For loving and needing and those other soft things. Shinobi always paid dearly for it, and those that didn't were probably not fighting a war.

Haku would be kept by his side the way a sword is kept by a man's side. Swords are only meant to cut and defend, and if they break then you simply move on. As far as Zabuza knew, no one ever cried over losing a weapon.

He let his eyes drift shut. But it  _was_ cold that night, and the blades of swords are cold and unforgiving.

And Haku is warm.


	12. Selfish adults aplenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> S'il vous plaît, choisissez votre femme par l'oreille bien plus que par les yeux.

 

Kirigakure's Municipal Office building was only three square blocks away from the Administrative Headquarters the Mizukage worked out of. It was commonplace to see clerks or shinobi go between the two buildings on busy days.

Today, few people were out on the street.

The winter temperature plunged to bitter new lows, and Kuina's face had gone crimson from the windsheer as she walked. She glanced at Kamisori several times from the corner of her eye, _'Just how does he not react to cold? At all.'_ His countenance was serene, his skin perfect porcelain unspoiled by the frigid air. The rest of him was blustered and tossed by the wind, and Kuina guessed every ninja who was assigned missions that day would stand disheveled and chapped in front of the Mizukage for debriefings. As it so happened, they would be reporting to the Mizukage later that morning.

Once inside the municipal building, Kuina made an attempt to thaw her nose with a scarf.

"I seem to have picked the least ideal day conceivable to finish paperwork." Kamisori noted as they stood beside a space heater.

"Any day you picked would have been close to this." She gave a small, shivering shrug, "If you'd have been willing to wait for spring, well…that's something reasonable people might have done."

"Ah, so I'm unreasonable?"

"Impatient, is more like it."

As she motioned to remove her coat, Kamisori slid it from her shoulders and folded it over his arm, "If you're honest, both of those descriptions fit me."

"If I'm honest, those aren't the first two words I would use to describe you anyway."

Her smile, framed by two rosy cheeks, stirred heat low in his stomach. Kamisori followed her around the bend of the lobby and into a corridor, past the sign that read _Marriage Bureau, hours: 8:30AM to 3:45PM._

The same plump clerk they had seen two days before was at the front counter of the bureau. Kuina greeted the woman politely as Kamisori produced two completed applications. He handed them off to the clerk as she snapped her gum. The woman's eyes lazily trolled over the paperwork.

"You backdated these." The clerk sniped, "These should have today's date if you want a license."

"You didn't say we couldn't backdate them if we completed them in advance." Kamisori replied coolly, "That oversight was yours."

She leveled a disgusted look with the man before slapping the papers down on the countertop. The clerk wrenched a bottle of white-out corrector from a drawer and began to cover up the incorrect date.

Kuina exchanged a sidelong look with Kamisori, indicating: _I don't get it. There's no one else here and she's acting as if this is an inconvenience…_

He shut his eyes and quirked a brow in reply, _When you hate your job you take it out on people; it's a scientific fact._

They were told to sign another form and show photo ID cards. "I need a while to complete this so go take a seat." The clerk grunted.

The two shinobi sat down in the waiting area and watched as the lone worker bumbled around to prepare a marriage license.

Kamisori watched his soon-to-be wife sit beside him and braid the frills of her scarf. Kuina had been pragmatic about their intention to wed, suggesting a license and officiated ceremony that could all be managed within an hour. It would work with their schedules, they both agreed. Months earlier, he may have taken Kuina for the type to excitedly don kimono and expect an ornate ceremony. She quickly handed him a counterpoint, "Why marry in a temple? We have no one who will want to attend besides my father. Maybe Guo and Sashayma…but I'd have to beg them to go, probably."

He was mildly insulted, "Do they dislike me?"

"It's not _dislike_." She scrunched her face to describe it, "They're…intimidated. I think Sashayma understands how you really are, but she's 55 percent shyer than most of Mist's population to begin with. She needs a lot of coaxing to go anywhere now that we don't have Nago."

"I see. She's a nice woman." He added with a hint of realization, "I have no one who would attend. Rather…I have no friends. With most of my family dead or hostile…I suppose it rules all formality out."

"Exactly."

The niggling feeling in his chest was what he identified as mild disappointment. He would have genuinely enjoyed marrying this woman in all of the silk-robed opulence that the Yuki clan could afford. If he had been stubborn about it, he may have gotten Lord Jinsong and some relatives to sanction the ceremony.

Initially, his relationship with Kuina had been a convenient cover, but now she was a true and desirable commitment. It would have been satisfying to marry in the traditional style, but the practical kunoichi had already thrown the idea out the window. Alas, Kuina would have been beautiful in the _uchikake_ robes handed down within the Yuki clan for generations, ostentatious and intricate. That he knew for certain.

He let the wish shrink into a mere daydream as they waited.

"Yuki." The voice of the clerk rasped from the counter. Nothing beyond that was said once Kamisori and Kuina returned and were instructed to inspect the freshly printed license for errors. It was entirely correct.

"Ceremony is 5 Ryo, if you want. There's only one officiant in today." The clerk indicated with her thumb towards the end of the hall, "No wait time though."

"Sashayma should be here soon." Kuina noted as Kamisori forked over the 5 Ryo, because even if they could proclaim on paper that they were legally wed, a modicum of formality would make it at least a bit more memorable. The man's face seemed to say, _Well why not? There's no wait._

Snow was blowing sideways outside with the force of the wind, and the pair goggled at the freakish power of nature from the windows of the corridor. They proceeded side-by-side towards the room that the clerk had pointed out. There was a small auditorium with folding chairs, the room dusty from a lack of use. Beside it was a closet-sized office lit by a lamp, and a tiny old man was asleep at a writing desk. Behind him on a credenza, the crackling pops of an old record player signaled the end of a musical track.

Kamisori rapped on the doorframe with his knuckles and the old man awoke with a snort. He blinked at them and dabbed his lip with a sweater sleeve, "Oh! You folks gettin' married, eh?" He stood to bow in greeting and bumped his head on the lamp, "Ima Yorozu, at your service. Are you Buddhists?"

Kuina exchanged a side-eye glance with her spouse. They were as secular as the day was long.

"Sure." Kamisori went with it.

Yorozu riffled around a drawer and drew out a tiny journal, tottering past them on rickety legs. He gave them both a long up-and-down look and noted their ninja hitai-ate. _Buddhists. Yeah, right…_ His face seemed to say. Ninja did not subscribe to Buddhist Dharma. They were too selfish, too attached, and among the most unenlightened people there were.

He led the way to the auditorium and snapped the overhead lights on. The couple stopped in front of the old man when Yorozu positioned himself at the foot of the stage, his hands jittering with a geriatric tremor as he attempted to page through the journal. It was a full minute of page-turning before Yorozu spoke to himself, "Fuh. Can't use this, shinobi hate this garbage…" He continued flipping.

"Ima-san, please don't try to tailor the service to us. Whatever you say will be fine." Kuina tried to assure him.

"Trust me, people hate the sissy stuff. What are your names?"

"Yuki Kamisori and Kuina." When Kamisori had uttered a single surname Kuina had a disoriented moment in which she nearly disagreed, and then remembered she had signed the license.

"'Course you snow people want to marry in a blizzard." Yorozu gruffed, nodding towards the folding chairs, "The witness is here."

They turned to see Sashayma _squicking_ across the tile floor in slick boots, with a furred hood and parka still on. She made no motion to take off her winter wear as she waved at her friend happily. After a small struggle, Sashayma was able to take a seat without falling out of a chair.

"That everyone?" The old man asked.

Kamisori confirmed it with a nod and then Yorozu cleared his throat, squinting down into the journal.

"We have come together in the presence of spiritual beings to witness, celebrate, and bless the joining together of…er…" He glanced up as Kuina mouthed their names to him, "Ah, Kamisori and Kuina. A spiritual life is a path of transformation of one's inner potential, a path dedicated to serving others, and helping others to awaken their own potential. Marriage is a vehicle for the practice of serving others."

"Unconditional love is the wish that others have happiness and the causes of happiness. Marriage is the equal commitment to the happiness of your partner, toward their awakening…and…" Yorozu flipped the page and batted his lips.

"Kamisori and Kuina dedicate their marriage to the happiness of all living beings. All of those gathered here today are the representatives of all living beings. The bond and covenant of marriage is established by previous positive actions, and blessed by spiritual beings. It signifies to us the union of Kamisori and Kuina here, in the Village Hidden in the Mist, and in the universe."

The old man stopped and looked over to Sashayma in the second row, "Witness, am I coming in clear? If you can't hear it then it doesn't count."

She gave a thumb up, "I hear it!"

"Good…uh…where…? Oh. Kamisori and Kuina, do you pledge to help each other to develop your hearts and minds, cultivating compassion, generosity, ethics, patience, enthusiasm, concentration, and wisdom as you age and undergo the various ups and downs of life; and to transform them into the path of love, compassion, joy and equanimity?" Yorozu held out his hand to cue them.

In unison, "We do." Though it was insanely tacky and religious, the sentiment wasn't half bad.

"Recognizing that the external conditions in life will not always be smooth, and that internally your own minds and emotions will sometimes lurch in negativity, do you pledge to see all these circumstances as a challenge to help you grow, to open your hearts, to accept yourselves, and each other; and to generate compassion for others who are suffering?"

"We do." After all, there was plenty of suffering in Kirigakure for them to reflect on.

"Understanding that just as we are a mystery to ourselves, each other person is also a mystery to us, do you pledge to seek to understand yourselves, each other, and all living beings, to examine your own minds continually and to regard all the mysteries of life with curiosity and joy?"

"We do." For the most part.

"When it comes time to part, do you pledge to look back at your time together with joy– joy that you met and shared what you have– and acceptance that we cannot hold on to anything forever?"

"We do."

"Do you pledge to remember the disadvantages of ignorance, anger, and clinging attachment, to apply antidotes when these arise in your minds, and to remember the kindness of all other beings and your connection to them? Do you pledge to work for the welfare of others, with all of your compassion, wisdom, and skill?"

When convenient, yes, "We do."

"You are devout to Amida Buddha…" The man flipped the page once again.

Assuming that they were pious people who happened to agree to the aforementioned positivities, yes, they would probably be considered devout.

"Do you, Kamisori, promise to love, cherish, and work day and night to bring happiness to Kuina? Do you promise to practice generosity, morality, patience, and joy in all you do; mindfulness and wisdom to treat Kuina and all others with loving kindness and compassion, for all the time you are together, knowing that this marriage can only be as good as the two of you make it?"

Up until that point, Kuina had only been looking at Kamisori's face, which was utterly unruffled by the maudlin religiosity. She raised her brows when he assured, "I do." And fitted a band on her finger, though she had hardly noticed when he had lifted her hand in the first place.

' _Shit, Rama was right! The trend is catching on.'_ She had nearly dismissed the thought of jewelry, but her young Jounin friend Rama had advised her to find _some_ chunk of metal to stick on her man's hand for the sake of conformity. _'I only got this in case he got one for me. Kamisori didn't say anything about it…'_ Kuina fished the cobalt band out of her pocket, taken aback that it was needed after all.

"Do you, Kuina, promise to love, cherish and work day and night to bring happiness to Kamisori? Do you promise to practice generosity, morality, patience, and joy in all you do; mindfulness and wisdom to treat Kamisori and all others with loving kindness and compassion, for all the time you are together, knowing that this marriage can only be as good as the two of you make it?"

"I do." She promised, and Kamisori was half surprised when she slipped his ring on. Kuina's face dropped in dismay, discovering that she had gotten the size wrong. It hung loose, but not enough to pass his knuckle and slip off.

Yorozu lifted his hand up as if to indicate the conclusion, "By the power vested in me by the Village Hidden in the Mist, and through the wishes of Kuina and Kamisori, as well as the blessing of the lineage of our Spiritual Friends, you are now called on as Husband and Wife." He snapped his journal shut, "That…about does it. You lot don't look very interested in another prayer. Kept crossing your eyes whenever I read about love and compassion, so…" The old man hobbled down the aisle and out of the room, "Have a good one."

Sashayma's heavy hood _swished_ as she looked over her shoulder to watch the man leave. She turned back to Kuina and Kamisori, "He just-? I…I think you're supposed to kiss each other-?"

"I don't know. I'm not a Buddhist." Kuina admitted woodenly. All she knew of were Shinto shrine weddings and the requisite kimono and hakama, sakaki branches that the bride and groom offer in prayer, san-san-kudo nuptial cups filled with sake… _'Not this new-age propriety…'_

Kamisori made a shrugging motion with his face. She looked up at him with a small smile, fluttering her eyes shut when his mouth slanted over hers. It was charged with excitement that he had concealed; a heavy, matter-of-fact kiss that teetered on the edge of open-mouthed before Kuina withdrew with a small puff. When they parted Sashayma hooted with approval, clapping with her gloved hands.

After that they had to pull Sashayma up out of the seat, "Thanks…whew! That was quite nice. I'm glad you invited me."

"Thank you for bearing witness." Kamisori told her, "No one else was really willing to show up."

"And not because there's a blizzard outside." Kuina noted, "Can we take you for tea or something?"

"No, thank you. I am going back home to snuggle in my warm bed." Sashayma chuckled, "You two are the unlucky ones who have to stay out in this weather! I have off from work."

Reality clicked back into place. The newlyweds acknowledged, as they pulled on their coats in the lobby, that the Mizukage was already expecting them.

* * *

Thirty minutes later at the Administrative Building, Kamisori had his meeting with the Mizukage first. Kyonjin spoke with him behind a closed door and then set him free after a time. Kuina waited in the hallway by a radiator, savoring any bit of warmth she could find. In the empty, nippy corridor, Kamisori stopped beside her and sighed.

"Did you tell him?" She asked.

"I did. Kyonjin-sama felt that, regardless, we should still be accepting missions."

"I guess a break was too much to hope for."

He nodded wearily. Their leader was not one to coddle anyone or care about the personal business of shinobi in his service.

Kamisori held her for a long time, speaking quietly against her hair, "I'll be gone for two days." He sounded terribly sorry about it, his white eyebrows furrowed, "There's a concentration of rebels at the south of the island, and I'll be accompanying a surveillance team."

She held his cheek in her palm and pulled back to get a look at him, "Consummation is going to have to come later, then." He quirked his mouth at the remark, and she added, "Come back safely, Sori."

He nodded and bent to let her plant her mouth on his, lingering, and then they stepped apart. Kuina knew that she was due next in the office, but Kamisori was not a few paces down the landing before he stopped, "Kuina…" Telling her, "From now on, make sure that you use your new name." His smug face clearly read: _you are mine._

Mildly thrilled, she watched him descend the stairs before she entered the Mizukage's chamber. Kyonjin was neatening a wooden box of stamps and writing implements at the edge of the room. He turned to her almost affably and acknowledged, "Your file will need to be updated."

Kuina folded her hands in front of her, "I hope it wasn't sudden, sir. I'll complete all of the appropriate updates by the end of the day."

"I'm sure you will." He flipped on a space heater, "I have no assignments for you presently, but I would like to discuss the effects of Jokichi's return. I would prefer him to take over most of your duties."

"Most of my-?" Her voice fluttered on the edge of offense, "With all due respect, sir, is this because I married-?"

"It is because Takamine Jokichi is a more seasoned, more talented Medic-Nin than you are, and I want him as my reporting Chief Medic from this day forward." Kyonjin explained solemnly, "You were an adequate candidate for the position, and have done well…but you were chosen only because of his absence."

She stared at the man as he unabashedly fished around a drawer for a lighter. A sick bubble of turmoil was rising from her gut, poised to exit her mouth in a furious scream. The position she handled _more than adequately,_ which she was _certain_ she deserved not merely because of another medic's absence…

Was handed off at the snap of the Mizukage's cold fingers.

"Mizukage-sama…" Kuina spoke with a thoughtful tone, "I…I understand your decision and respect it."

"I am glad." His phony smile hovered above a long, unlit cigarette, "I know that you have only the highest praise and respect for your colleague."

"I always have. He's a friend and a teacher to me." Her eyes vibrated, reaching back inside herself into a despicable, wonderful place where a crooked solution to her problem was suggested, "I only wonder if he disclosed all of the details of his journey to you?"

Kyonjin stilled beside his desk, "He did indeed," The Mizukage looked over his shoulder at the woman, "Unless he disclosed more to his student than to the Lord of the Mist Village?"

"He shared information with me when he returned." Kuina confirmed, "Including a contact in the Land of Waves and his discussion with Tsunade-hime in the Land of Fire."

Kyonjin held a hand up, scowling, "Jokichi did not go beyond the Land of Tea."

She stayed silent and it was an affirmation that boiled the man's blood, "That git minced words with me, did he? It's well within his character…but I was convinced Jokichi had returned to his birthplace with a more…reliable, mature mindset."

"He hasn't changed." Kuina insisted. Her insides were a storm of self-preservation.

If a bus had been running somewhere, its tire wheels would have screeched as Jokichi was thrown under it. Kuina's shoulders relaxed a fraction when the Mizukage took a seat and gave her a grateful look.

"Kuina-chan…you are always honest and upfront with me." Kyonjin was genuinely relieved, "I intend to amend my decision. Please retain your position as Chief, and also…" He added opportunistically, "If you learn anything troubling about the Yuki clan, be sure to share it with me."

"I will, Kyonjin-sama."

"Good. Congratulations, by the way." He flicked ashes from the cigarette into a tray, "Report to me at the end of the week. You and your husband will enjoy some time off then…as my thanks to you."

The Mizukage dismissed her and Kuina skittered out of the office, wildly wondering if Jokichi would immediately recognize her input to be the cause of the Mizukage's change of heart. Surely Kyonjin would not mention her by name… _'Why should that bother me? I can't spend my whole life being happy for others and stepping back from opportunities that should be mine.'_ She thought to herself, _'This is Kirigakure. Everything here is fought for and won. There are no handouts.'_

She was due at the Academy in about an hour. Kuina braved a cold trek through the center of the city and dropped in at the hospital first, _'I want to check the schedules to be sure I don't work when Kamisori gets home…'_

At the nurse's station, Kuina greeted the single nurse on duty, So-Eun, and then unceremoniously dropped into the rolling chair beside her. As Sashayma had done earlier, Kuina kept her outerwear on.

"The storm is getting worse out there…" So-Eun sighed, "It had better be done by the time I leave tonight."

"It should be. Hm. Looks like I'm on for tomorrow…" Kuina skimmed down the chart, "Shoot. Guo has the days off that I want."

So-Eun glanced at her while sipping out of a thermos, "You need some time off, Kuina-san?"

"I wanted a little bit of a honeymoon." She grinned and held up her left hand. So-Eun tittered at the sight of the ring.

Kuina used a pen to scratch off Guo's paid time off at the end of the week and fit him into alternative times and shifts. So-Eun's face immediately dropped, "Kuina-san…haven't you rescheduled Guo about three times already?"

She blinked, not one hundred percent clear if she had, "It's what he's around for. I know he doesn't mind."

"But he—"

Kuina scribbled the characters for her name beside the changes to authorize them, "I'm Chief. Guo will deal with it and then thank me when I give the Mizukage an outstanding review of his dedication and talent next month."

So-Eun deflated and nodded, turning her attention back to a magazine.

Kuina wished So-Eun a peaceful shift before moving on, wrapping her scarf more securely around her face as she ducked onto the street. There was definitely no point in feeling guilty about what she put her apprentice through. Her indiscretions did not even come close to how badly Jokichi had taken advantage of her in the past, _'He said I was young and I could handle nights without sleep. He disappeared for days on end and let me suffer. I don't do that! Guo has it easy with me.'_

The windows of the Academy building were heavily shuttered, and as Kuina hurried in through a side entrance she replaced foam and rag pieces that had been stuffed in the door's cracks. It kept some of the draft out. Inside the building it was warm, and she could smell hot lunches that were being set on rolling carts for students. If she asked nicely, she bet that a class representative would offer her a hot bowl to eat.

At the door of the teacher's break room, a Chunin instructor welcomed Kuina, "You're early, Chief! You can leave your coat in here. The class should be ready for you after lunchtime."

"Great, thank you. It's Horie-sensei, right?"

"Yes ma'am." The rabbitity man puffed up a little when she recognized him.

"Is Guo in the break room?" She kept walking.

"Uh, no actually…he's been rummaging around the records room. I'm not sure why…"

She pursed her mouth in confusion, "Records? I'll go find him. Let me know when it's time."

"Will do."

Kuina hung a left and descended to the lower-level of the building, traversing the dingy, chilled halls of cinderblock. The first double-door'ed room was ajar and lit, and she called for Guo as she popped in. Her apprentice shrieked.

Concerned, Kuina held her hands up and soothed him, "Guo, it's just me! What are you doing down here? I thought we were going to go over what we wanted to show the kids."

"I…" Guo saved a page with his hand but closed the cover of an old Academy class book, "I was just looking through the archive to get an idea of…past students."

"Why do you want to do that?" She leaned against the table, her shadow cast long over the book shelves by the overhead light bulb, "…is everything okay?"

Guo's lips pressed into a line and searched her face, absolutely tormented for a reason she could not place. He must have found something trustworthy in her countenance, because he finally asked in a cautious voice, "Senpai…what would you do if you noticed a child was in danger?"

"What child? When?"

"Some weeks ago…I thought something weird was up. I haven't been able to stop thinking about it." Guo admitted, "I wasn't sure how to bring it up…"

She leveled her gaze with his, "What do you mean, Guo?"

"What I mean is…I may have encountered and treated a child that was abducted." He clarified.

"If you even _suspect_ that you should report it!" Kuina insisted.

"And what if the kidnapper was certain to kill me if I did?" Guo shut the book and replaced it on the shelf. Kuina did not have to take a wild guess to figure that it was a record of a _stained generation class,_ one that had ended in a graduation bloodbath.

"Then…point someone in the right direction?" She suggested feebly, "Hayago is very good at digging up people's dirty laundry. Just ask him to poke around."

Guo ran his hands through his hair and was wracked with a full-body shudder. Her advice was not enough to quell his nerves, but he'd take it for whatever it was worth.

"Guo…"

"…if I die, please know that you were a good friend." He whimpered, turning for the door.

She bit her lip, a bit irked that she had not been a model friend this particular day in history, "Don't be dramatic!" Kuina tugged him by the arm to return to the upper level, "Who kidnaps a child in the height of winter? Or would even try come after you? The scariest thing you have to worry about today is public speaking."

He groaned worriedly on the way up the stairs.

* * *

The demonstration went well. Guo and Kuina took turns lecturing animatedly about their jobs, for a solid hour. At least twenty Academy students raised their hands when asked if they would consider becoming Medic-Nin someday. When providing explanations as to _why_ they were interested, the children's answers were sobering:

"My sister was killed."

"Mom got killed by ninja."

"Dad didn't make it."

"I lost both of my friends and Big Bro…"

"No one comes home from missions to the front lines, anymore."

"If I could help them…"

"Would we not have to kill any more if we heal people?"

Kuina replied squarely, "No. Medic-Nin must heal others because it is not up to us whether or not we are at war."

A student stood from his desk to address her, "Ma'am, can you tell us who _is_ in charge of that? Who gets to decide? I want to do that job so I can protect people."

"The Mizukage believes he is protecting his people." Kuina ignored the worried, shushing headshake of the Chunin Instructor, "That is why we are at war."

The boy sat down and said nothing.

"You can become councilmen, dignitaries, doctors, teachers, assassins, or Kage. It doesn't matter. What _does_ matter is what you believe will end pain and suffering. If you feel that your village can benefit from you doing something, no matter how small or large, that is the path you must embark on." Kuina veered off into shinobi rhetoric. "I choose to be Medic-Nin because it allows me to undo the pain that others inflict. I don't have the patience to be councilwoman or village leader, who need to be proactive about making peace."

"Peace? Heh! Everyone knows that Kyonjin-sama doesn't know how to pronounce _that_ word!" A student in the back of the room jested. The assistant Chunin Instructor lifted the boy by his upper arm and pulled him into the hallway to be disciplined.

Guo found his voice, less timid than he had been in the records room, "I too choose to heal and protect others. I was the first to graduate from a class that was not commanded to kill each other as a requirement. You are all living in a blessed time in Hidden Mist's history. We may still be at war, but the classmates to the left and right of you will grow up with you and have the chance to be your comrades. It's a precious gift."

Kuina nodded in agreement. At the end of the Q and A, Kuina left with Guo in tow, disappointed that they were not offered any of the school lunches. Horie-sensei explained contritely that there were only enough meals for each Academy student during the village's winter rationing. Chunin Sensei voluntarily went hungry to make sure all children were fed. Kuina shared a wary smile with Guo as they considered the sentiment.

They trudged through the snow back into the center of the city, glad that the wind had stilled and the skies had cleared. Salt was spread over walkways and cloaked laborers began shoveling. Kuina obliged when Guo insisted they go the extra four blocks to the only ramen shop he trusted with his vegan diet. "They make a different kind of stock from vegetables instead of _dashi,_ so I can eat there without the guilt." He explained. Kuina laughed quietly and shook her head.

Master and apprentice thawed themselves at the indoor food counter, and the chef welcomed the two ninja. He was a stout man in a sweater and apron, and there was no way to tell where his facial scruff ended and his buzzed hair began. His whole head was wrapped in stubble, Kuina would've described it.

"Awful out there, isn't it? Hidden Mist has a hell of a winter. If I wasn't too chicken shit to cross the island and pray I don't get merked by rebel ninja, I'd have moved to Kusagakure by now." The cook sighed, passing complimentary cups of tea to them, "What'll it be, kids?"

Guo ordered the vegan bowl and Kuina asked for a moment to glance over the menu. The chef nodded and handed off a ticket to his apprentice chef to begin cooking.

"Did you say Kusagakure?" Guo was curious, "Do you know anyone there?"

"My big brother. All three of his daughters are Grass ninja." He sighed wistfully, "I stayed here because I was born here…but the violence has really curdled the appeal. It's been ten years of the same song and dance. It's about time I moved on."

"Many feel the way you do." Kuina sympathized, "I might choose the same, if I knew my father was willing to come with me. He's too stubborn to leave."

"Heh, old fogies here are just too set in their ways! It's never easy to leave the Water Country."

"Well, I guess my husband wouldn't want to leave Kirigakure either." Kuina noted, sliding her fingertip between menu photos of pork belly and kimchee style ramen. While she deliberated, a gulp of green tea spurted from Guo's lips

"Eh! Um, Senpai…"

"The chashu pork ramen, please." Kuina handed her menu back to the chef.

"Senpai?" The rims of the young man's ears were red with alarm.

Understanding the wary pitch of her student's voice, Kuina addressed the elephant in the room, "Guo, I should've told—"

"You're married."

"Yes."

"You _married_ him?" Guo verified it twice.

"I did. We got married this morning. It's cleared with the Mizukage; we're licensed and everything…" Her expression rearranged itself with soft understanding, well-aware that he was blindsided by the news, "Kamisori and I agreed to go for it. All that we wanted was a civil ceremony, at most. If I had the chance to tell you sooner I would have, Guo. This opportunity popped up unexpectedly, so…"

He pooched his lips in mock-childishness, "I bet you invited Sashayma. Hm? But not me?"

"I didn't think you'd want to haul yourself through a blizzard to see a six minute ceremony orated by a geriatric officiant."

"The thought would've counted! Gosh, what a heartless teacher I have…" Guo teased, nudging her, "I understand. Thanks then, I guess. What did Sashayma think?"

Kuina sipped her tea, "Mm…she clapped. She didn't even have to take off her coat. Must've been great?"

"Huh. I guess it's kind of nice to expedite it." He imagined.

The chef was at the far end of the counter wiping surfaces down with a cloth. The wind picked up and rattled the eatery's door, but no other diners had bothered to drop in aside from the master and student. For a time, they sipped tea and stared ahead at a wall of framed photos, newspaper clippings, and health inspection certificates.

Out of the blue, Guo wondered, "How did you graduate to Genin, Senpai? After we spoke to academy students today…I couldn't help but think about your generation…"

"I didn't have to kill anyone. I was a B-class commuter. I grew up outside of Hidden Mist." Kuina replied quickly to calm him, "I was selected with a few others for private evaluations…and then I went before a committee in the administrative building right after they gave me my headband." She exhaled and shut her eyes as she recalled, "They openly discussed making me a jinchuriki, right in front of my face. Granted, at the time I didn't understand the concept…but I was in contention for a while before they felt I should be kept on reserve."

"…my god."

"Years later they chose Utakata instead, and then Higa-sensei asked for me to be taken off of the Sealing Corps reserve list. He didn't think with the political upheaval and violence that it was a good climate for me to be a standby. He said there was a greater likelihood I'd be given insanely high-risk tasks."

The chef set their noodle bowls in front of them, asked if they needed anything, and then settled down on a low seat to work on a nonogram behind the counter.

"I see." Guo gave her a sidelong look, his voice low, "I'm glad you didn't have to experience any of those hardships just to become a trainee."

"Me too. Ah, well, Higa-sensei almost got my team killed several times and…Weno and Seungri _have_ died since then…" She noted haltingly, "So it may not have been entirely without hardship."

"Kamisori-san told you about his graduation, didn't he?" Guo asked, "Hayago-taicho said it was a day that lives in infamy."

Kuina halted the motion of bringing a mushroom to her lips, the color draining from her face, "Infamy." She tried wrapping her head around the word, considering she had  _married the man._

"He was crafty." Guo said as if to prompt her to tell the tale, as if she'd already been filled in. He examined her face and determined that, in fact, Kuina knew nothing of the incident.

"Senpai…"

"Tell me." She finally ate her mushroom, staring straight ahead to chew and listen.

"I was told that…like other graduating classes…his was also surprised by the requirement to kill classmates." Guo recounted carefully, "There were many students in that class willing to shed blood. It wasn't as if they all cowered in corners and pleaded, like some years did. Hayago-taicho said that Kamisori-san focused on the _trouble-spots_ , the fighters, for the most part. The cowards were down by then…and he spared two of his classmates."

Blinking hard, Kuina turned her head to look her student in the face, "He spared classmates and also graduated?"

"He…" Guo stopped to busy his mouth with noodles, later continuing, "Kamisori-san only left the two rivals of the class who were no match for him…he let them kill each other."

Maybe _that_ was a cause for concern in any other scenario, if not for the fact that academy graduates of the previous four decades were acquainted with the horrific requirement. It was not unusual. Hayago had done it. Higashikuni had done it. Jokichi had done it.

"You didn't know that." Guo pointed out, "Kuina-senpai…has he not talked about his time on elite squadrons to you either?"

"He doesn't want to discuss any of that. Kamisori isn't proud of it." She acknowledged.

"But if you don't know it, if you can't use that knowledge as a way to judge how safe you—"

"Guo, he will never hurt me. He isn't like that. Kamisori does not bring up subjects he is ashamed of, which is quite a volume of things." Kuina continued, "I know he wants to put all of it behind him."

"Maybe he does." Guo agreed, his teacup hovering below his chin, "But a lot of the things _you_ don't know can _catch up to him._ I just don't want anything happening to you because of how closely you're associated with Kamisori-san. That's all. I feel that…he definitely can be trusted with your personal safety."

Kuina digested the sentiment and kept reminding herself to eat, not sit there dumbly while her food rapidly cooled.

Guo, for his nineteen years, was terribly astute. He sat there, average as a pebble, his hair and eyes dusty brown, his readers hung on a lanyard 'round his neck, his profile slimmer and skin clearer now that he endeavored to eat cleanly. He had a long way to go before he could master all of the techniques she was keen on passing down. Even so, Guo consistently provided her with an opinion she could not dismiss.

"Thank you for telling me that." Kuina swirled ingredients around her bowl with chopsticks, half-perturbed, "I feel compelled to tell you that I took over your paid time off days, Guo. The ones you scheduled later in the week…I didn't ask if it was alright to switch you."

"Of course it is."

"But I've been doing it too often." She gave a repentant shake of her head.

"I don't mind. Really. It was just a few days so Tolu and I could look around for a place to rent together. We can push it off to next week."

"Are you sure? Oh! And her name's Tolu?" Kuina perked up at the mention of his girlfriend.

He nodded happily while slurping noodles.

"Will you introduce me to her, sometime?"

"I will." Guo assured her.

"Is she a shinobi? How did you meet her?"

"I met her at a manga convention last year. She's a marketing coordinator for _LEAP._ "

"Oh my gosh. That is so typical." Kuina jabbed his shoulder, "Nerd!"

Guo took the light-hearted teasing as he usually did. He sat placidly and ate, his cheeks flaming red.

Kuina chuckled to herself for a time and gnawed on pork slices. Guo was the only person she knew who still read for fun, and absolutely the only person she knew within a hundred miles who read manga. Hidden Mist was not a sanctuary for _that sort._

"Senpai?"

"Hm." She was still chewing.

"Why me?" Guo wondered, "I'm pretty sure there were four Academy students who scored higher than I did at Graduation…and they all wanted to be apprenticed to you or Jokichi."

"I remember."

"Why did you pick 5th place?"

"Ah, well…" Kuina cleared her palate with a sip of tea, "How can I put it? You know what the top of the class is like— who those students prioritize. If you had to guess, who do you think is most important to students number one through four?"

"They are. They put themselves first."

"Right." She pointed her chopsticks at him, "I didn't like that. I didn't like how they prioritized." Kuina continued, "So I didn't bother reading their files. I just watched how everyone interacted in the schoolyard when I stopped by to pick an apprentice."

He winced, "That just makes it _less_ likely that you would have chosen me. I was mocked the whole day after I received my hitai-ate. A lot of jerks wanted me to fail out and give up."

"You didn't."

"Even though I passed I still wasn't good enough."

"Not in their eyes." Kuina turned to face him, "I chose you because you were meek. Because you were bullied. I wanted someone who would see, who would _really value_ what I taught them. Anyone else would take it for granted. I watched you pick yourself back up. I watched you come to the defense of classmates who were treated _worse_ than you. That's the point."

"That was a bad day." He recalled in a small voice.

"They beat the shit out of you. At least until the Chunin Instructor told them to piss off." She remembered it just as clearly, "Then I came by and patched you up! And I asked if you wanted to learn to be a Medic-Nin! And you just kinda…stared at me…"

"I was happy." Guo turned his face away to smile shyly.

"I know. Do you get it now? Who would understand my philosophy better than you? Who would value the ability to heal more than the kid who was hurting?"

"Did that ever happen to you when you were young?" Guo asked.

"No. I was never beaten." She noted before a final slurp of the broth in her bowl, "But back at home in my fishing village…bad things happened."

"Hmm." Guo nodded and also finished the last of his meal.

"So…" Kuina pulled notes of money from her wallet, "Do you have a time in mind of when you'd like to try to take a Jounin Evaluation?"

"No clue. I don't see any harm with staying at the level I'm at. I really want to focus on studying and finding a new place to live."

"You don't take more than the minimum amount of missions required of Chunin annually." She critiqued gently, "And I need you to be a Jounin to take over my position, someday."

"You think **I** could be promoted to Chief Medic?"

"Give it ten years, but yeah."

"What about Jokichi?"

"He's older and more unstable than us." Kuina's voice steeled, "He isn't reliable."

"He's a genius."

"He's hard-boiled." Kuina corrected, "He'd run the Medical Corps into the ground. He can improve some things, maybe, but Jokichi will burn everyone out with how he runs things."

"You'd know that, right?"

She nodded, "Take more missions, Guo. Try to stay local. Request assignments with me, Hayago, or Kamisori. We can look out for each other. You'll get more experience."

Guo had a forlorn, unconfident look in his eyes as he listened.

"If you can make the time I will train with you to improve your Ninjutsu. You're already very good." Kuina offered, "But I need you to make strides forward, Guo. Don't be complacent."

"I will, Shishou." He adopted a more formal tone with her, ripe with humility. Of course he'd known he was slacking. It was mostly due to the fact that Guo could not envision himself both being alive in ten years **and** taking high-level missions in such dangerous times. It was one option or the other, but not _both._ He was on the losing end of the survival-of-the-fittest theory.

"Good." Kuina paid for both of their lunches, "Do you have a shift later? I didn't check."

"Yeah."

"With Jokichi?" She asked, "If so, please don't tell him any of the things I said about him."

An honest vow, "I never will."

* * *

With the _Razor Clam Mountains_ at their backs, the Mist Village far to the north, Kamisori traversed frozen, fresh water swamp forests with Hayago at the lead of the team. Utakata, the teenage jinchuriki, flanked him on the right. His eyes were shifty and he seemed annoyed. Kamisori did not try to ask what his problem was.

They were entering a disputed area. It was not fully controlled by Kirigakure or the rebel clan forces. Hayago told them when they stopped to pee to dig holes in the mud first, and not mark their trails in the snow. The veteran let them do their business on a break and stared to the south, solitary, his orange eyes blank and trance-like.

The group continued on until they arrived at an abandoned radio communication post. Kamisori went inside of the small brick building to look around and make sure all of the equipment was not transmitting. Utakata and Hayago kept watch outside while waiting for him.

After a time, Utakata spoke up, "Captain. I'm sorry if I am lagging today."

"Keep up." Hayago sniffed, "You had better not be moping about what Harusame tells you these days."

"It's not—"

"He's told me how you don't think things through. You're reckless when things count. He can't seem to break that habit of yours. I'm keeping my eye on you." Hayago warned.

"I know, I know." The young man sighed.

There was a silence and Hayago seemed to soften more with compassion.

"What's the matter? Hate being out in the snow?"

Utakata shook his head, "It's…not that."

"What, then?"

"I heard from Ganryu-san that Kamisori married Kuina-san in secret." His eyebrows knitted in discomfort, "Today."

Hayago gave him a hollow look and processed the news.

"I would've liked to marry her."

A counterpoint, "You're seventeen."

"Makes no difference." Utakata reminded him dryly.

"Don't be such a child." The veteran gruffed, "Huh. Word travels fast in that office, doesn't it? Same-day gossip. I'm surprised Kamisori hasn't said anything to us."

"Because he knows we may leave his body out here in the wastes if he admits to it." Utakata grumbled.

Hayago flicked his nose, "My daughter whines less than you, crybaby slug."

Utakata muttered in irritation while Hayago busied himself, refilling a half-empty water bottle with clean snow. Kamisori returned and looked between his two teammates.

"I can hear you both, you know."

Utakata folded his arms and pointedly did not acknowledge the white-haired Jounin.

"Stay away from my wife." Kamisori pointed a finger at Utakata, warning casually, "Crybaby slug."

"Fuck you, snowbird. She's my friend!"

"Not anymore, not after what you just confessed to—"

With his back turned to them, Hayago raised his hand to silence his subordinates. Without any words of instruction, the team leader prowled around the back of the building and motioned for them to follow. After crossing a short footbridge over a crystal-clear creek, Hayago provided a signal that prompted the team to take off with great speed. They followed a southwestern route that diverged from the original path they had used to find the outpost. After a few-kilometer dash into the nettle of swamp trees, Hayago had the team stop and take shelter.

"I felt a Sensory jutsu prod me. Me specifically." Hayago spoke calmly, "It's them. They probably want to reestablish radio coms here for the clans."

"Nothing is functioning." Kamisori informed him, "None of it has worked in months."

"It will in due time. A few Abe clan members can have that place set up again like it was brand-spanking new in a few hours. They've worked with cartels to get more advanced hardware. They can set up faster than any Mist team." Hayago pointed two fingers at Utakata's face and then turned to point 30 degrees east, "Sensor-bubbles. Sweep the path and the outpost. We can't leave yet."

Utakata swirled his blower pipe in soap and did as instructed.

"We need to leave." Kamisori advised, "The Abe won't be here alone. They don't operate the way Higashikuni does. They travel in threes, and they like to keep in the company of bruisers these days."

"I know that. If that's all it is, then we can ask Utakata to melt them with the Six-Tails." Hayago strategized, "I've halted this type of rebel configuration before. We need to level the outpost, or else they'll keep coming back to repair it."

Kamisori shook his head, "They've brought too many ninja. They were checking for you, Captain."

Hayago cornered him with a discerning stare, "Why?"

"Because you've stopped them in the past. They know you're here."

Abruptly, Hayago's eyes stilled, pinned on the horizon in a sightless daze. Utakata regarded the veteran strangely, unsure of what he was trying to do, before the older man started and stood up.

"Report?" The captain asked.

"Nine in total that I can see." Utakata relayed the information as he peered into a transmitting bubble in front of his face, "Sir, do you want me to ask Saiken for help? We can crush the outpost now if we act. They aren't pursuing. Just setting up tech."

Kamisori gave their captain an urgent look. He could not admit that he knew it, but Kamisori was well aware there would be more than nine highly-skilled rebel ninja gathered at the outpost, no matter what Utakata could see. From his last rendezvous with Lord Jinsong of the Yuki clan, Kamisori was certain that rebel groups were acting more cohesively, were responding to stronger, newer leadership. They would take advantage of winter and unwatched regions to gain ground.

And they would love to catch and kill Captain Toyotomi Hayago— he who was an unparalleled strategist and servant of the Mizukage. As a double-agent, Kamisori was not comfortable blurting this truth out.

He didn't have to. Hayago quietly ordered their retreat and they slinked north. It was a slower, cautious trek over slate hills that overlooked and bisected the frozen swamp forest. Within a stone ravine about five meters in length, passing between chiseled walls, Utakata turned around and beheld a strange, white vapor billowing in a cloud behind them in the trench. The jinchuriki gave a soft shout of warning before blowing a large bubble to contain the vapor.

Ahead at the exit of the trench, a sizzling, bright orange ribbon of molten rock cascaded down, rumbling and rolling toward the group. Handily, the Mist team exited from whence they came, where the acidic vapor had been contained. Hayago understood full-well that the plume of lava now devouring the rest of their escape route, as well as the acidic fog, were all the work of a single person.

A pretty woman cut them off at the last bit of land safe to tread on. Both parties halted and squared off.

"Terumi-sama." Hayago had a hint of reverence for the wielder of two Kekkei Genkai.

"This does not have to end in violence, I assure you." The woman had her hand raised in a seal, poised to spit another stream of lava. She trolled her eyes curiously over Utakata, "I was hoping I'd find talent like yours."

Kamisori had taken a moment to summon _Nuibari_ from the sealing matrix on his arm. He spun the needle sword in his hand, frowning at the rebel kunoichi.

"Yuki-san, that is terribly rude…"

"Where are your reinforcements?" Hayago got to the point.

"At the outpost. I told them not to follow me." Mei explained, "I want to negotiate with you."

"We are not here to negotiate." Hayago clarified, "I suppose the takeaway from this is that you are in charge now. Is that it? Rebels answer to you?"

"I wish. There are a few malcontents, but I am always willing to compromise with them." The woman explained, "I am extending a genuine invitation to all three of you. If any of you truly desire to see change for the better in this land, in Kirigakure, I implore you stand with me." She spoke with sincerity, "If it were possible I would negotiate directly with Kyonjin-sama, but he has murdered five ambassadors who I have sent with white flags raised. His behavior is contemptible. At least you can agree with me on that point?"

Hayago said nothing, never wavering in his eye contact with the woman.

"You wouldn't dare agree." Mei exhaled through her nostrils, resigned, "But you can't deny it either. Hidden Mist is in the wrong. It cannot claim to heal and support the outskirt towns it regularly plunders and burns. We feed and protect the people that the Mizukage has forsaken."

"Your faction is equally guilty." Kamisori reminded her, "You work with mobsters and drug cartels to strengthen your supply lines. Don't claim to help people those gangs seek to enslave."

"You're right. They have strengthened our supply lines. I did lead gang leaders to vulnerable towns at the edge of this island." Mei admitted, "And then I burned those wicked men alive after they gave me what I needed." She pursed her lips and feigned a kiss goodbye, proud of her Lava Release.

Utakata seemed intrigued. A growl from Hayago snapped the boy out of his contemplation.

"We will not negotiate with you." Hayago repeated adamantly, "While your offer seems benign, you can't promise prosperity and security for our spouses, children, or friends. We have nothing to gain by joining you. Try recruiting more desperate men, Mei."

"I understand." She completed hand signs, "If you prefer serving the engine of evil in Mist that gives so-called protection to your families…I can't allow you to propagate more evil!"

Kamisori was quick enough to dash away from a molten, glowing ring that Mei spat. Hayago was not timely enough to dodge, but Utakata kindly wrapped his captain in a slug tail and absconded with him. Mei was thoughtful of her surroundings, backtracking towards the outpost to get the attention of her peers. Her liberal use of superheated rock was making it all but impossible for Kamisori to counter with any of his Hyoton techniques.

As his body half-melded with the Six-Tailed slug's form, Utakata hammered the ravine: slate, chilled lava, and all down to rubble with an oozing tail. As Mei tumbled, Hayago's lava-buffering spray of Water Release gave Kamisori ammunition enough for two _Ice Portals._

The circular plane was about as wide as a serving plate, and the former swordsman hurled _Nuibari_ through the first mid-air disc, its metal wire whirring, and the blade exited through the second disc by means of a minor, trans-dimensional jutsu. The sword skewered Terumi Mei through her stomach like a needlepoint project. With a cry, Kamisori pulled back on the wire until the woman was flush with the ice disc behind her, and Utakata spun 'round to smash her.

Hayago commanded his team to retreat, as they had been lured in close by what was truly a Lava Clone. It shed its disguise to erupt in a fiery burst, snapping the connected wire and fired _Nuibari_ into a wall of crumbling slate. Utakata's tail shielded Kamisori from the blast as he retrieved the sword. In a blink they were up the hill, lambasted by a wave of trailing lava.

Mei capably kept up with the group, her entourage less than a kilometer behind her to assist in stopping the Mist team. With Hayago's suggestion, Utakata exhaled a wall of alkaline bubbles to slow the kunoichi. Mei made steady progress in destroying the obstacle in front of her with Lava Release as her adversaries disappeared into the woods beyond. She crossed the line of rock and chemical devastation, unaware of a lingering, pitch-black bubble nearby.

The black coating of Tailed-Beast chakra in the bubble receded as Mei passed, exposing water to liquefied caesium, and the volatile explosion knocked her clear of the snow-capped hill and into the bog below. Two of her rebel comrades arrived moments later, quickly giving attention to her considerable wounds.

Utakata had wisely left two other _black bubbles_ in the forest. By the time the Mist team had set foot in the shadow of the _Razor Clam Pass_ in the north _,_ they were safely out of reach. On the way, they had rolled and patted their burning clothing out.

"Did they detonate the other two?" Hayago asked, short of breath.

Utakata wheezed his reply, "No, sir."

At a tired jog, the group hobbled up the shrub-and-chalk pass, all the while Kamisori fussed over how _Nuibari_ had partially melted.

"You poked a Lava Clone with that toothpick. What'd you expect?" Hayago grumbled, "I can't believe you didn't notice her substitute herself with it."

"I can't believe it either. Her timing was impeccable."

"That's not a compliment you give to an enemy trying to kill you, Yuki. She could've fried you both." Hayago took up the lead as they began the downward descent on the gravel trail, "Although…" He looked at Utakata who returned his gaze inquiringly, "Good job, kid. You had a bit of restraint today."

"Thank you, sir!"

After the recent storm, ice gleamed on the tops of boulders on the trail, icicles as tall and thick as men loomed above from cliff ledges. It was a quiet journey as each team member considered how the Mizukage would react to Mist's loss of a communication outpost.

A small squad for reconnaissance had not been enough to keep the disputed landmark, and Hayago had been insisting for weeks that Kyonjin was underestimating rebel tactics in winter. The captain wasn't too keen on taking a chance by unleashing Utakata's full strength on a rebel force. Certainly not with Terumi Mei around; she was clever enough to hold her own against three Jounin with her pretty poker face and dual Kekkei Genkai.

Utakata privately wondered what it would be like living in the camps of the _Rebel Forces._ Not that he'd be stupid enough to join— but he could daydream about a brighter future for the village, and taking orders from a lovely, noble kunoichi. Yet as Kamisori had suggested, he noted that rebels were not nearly as ethical and upright as they claimed to be.

Kamisori watched slivers of sunlight _eek_ out from behind heavy clouds, the rays of light casting Hayago in sharp relief ahead of him against pearl-hued sky.

' _I would have been more useful to Captain if I could've been truthful.'_ Kamisori considered, _'The Mizukage knew this rebel faction was in the south. I gave him that information in my report, after Jinsong-sama relayed it to me.'_ Maybe the Mizukage was intentionally jerking them around (or him, more specifically) to test the authenticity of Kamisori's intel. Maybe the Mizukage wanted to tempt him to flee to the other side— find out where a former Swordsman's true loyalty laid.

Or maybe their lives were expendable in the Mizukage's eyes? All of these considerations bobbled around in Kamisori's head. Kyonjin was not always as stupid as he acted. Kamisori had a nagging, infinitesimal pang of concern when he thought of how the Mizukage withheld information from ninja he did not fully trust. Himself, Zabuza, and the other retired Swordsmen included— Kyonjin would never be fully convinced he had their cooperation.

' _And if I had faltered and considered Mei's offer, Hayago would have executed me without question.'_ Of this he was quite sure. The veteran shinobi strategized for and advised the Mizukage, sometimes arguing or disagreeing with him, but Hayago's loyalty to the Mist Village was impossible to doubt. Not that it really mattered, Kamisori thought; these days he was a lap-dog. Kamisori was comfortable, well-paid, married, and had all the modern comforts and amenities that starving rebels dreamed of as their empty stomachs rumbled at night.

Though he didn't want Kyonjin to remain the Mizukage for much longer, Kamisori would milk the status quo for whatever it was worth. Until Jinsong decided to banish him from the ranks of the Yuki clan for good, Kamisori was fine with playing both sides, staying securely in the middle with Kuina. Well. For however long this purported "middle ground" could last.

She'd had opportunities to ask Higashikuni or Jokichi about his past employment, but Kamisori was certain Kuina had not yet learned of his time with the Seven Swordsmen. The time when he had tortured, murdered, and imprisoned people for money, for notoriety: to impress and intimidate others. When, under the peer pressure of the group, he and the Swords had killed indiscriminately and sometimes without provocation— always teetering on the fine line between serving the Mist Village and autonomously choosing to terrorize.

He felt a rock in his boot. He shifted uncomfortably as he walked.

Kamisori frowned and thought to himself, _'No. Kuina doesn't need to know of those days.'_ Just like how she didn't need to know of his brief, failed stint in Black Ops, his rejection from the Hunter Corps, the many indictments brought against him by his victims (and those settlements,) how difficult it had been to make real friends for twenty years, drug and alcohol binges in the Land of Waves; only a decade ago, in fact— losing count of the women he'd fucked by the time he'd made Jounin, and before all of _that_ , wondering if he'd wake in the night to Kushimaru-sensei violating or attacking him again.

No. Those weren't appealing features of his life worth sharing. Zabuza could mock him all he liked for being 'tame' and 'declawed,' but Kamisori would never split hairs about what the _good 'ol days_ were. He was _in them._ Right here and now, things were better.

Hayago's voice snapped him from his thoughts, "Yuki."

"Sir?"

"After our debriefing with the Mizukage, I'll put in a word with Nagayoshi and see if he has time to repair _Nuibari_ for you." Hayago offered, "If not, you'll have to take it to a different swordsmith."

"I have someone."

"Not as good as old prune-face Naga', though."

"No one that good or expensive." Kamisori concurred.

"Why do you keep that sword anyway? Isn't it a reminder of the profane, violent days of the Sandaime?" Utakata gave him an inquiring, sidelong glance, "Perhaps get a new one?"

"I've mastered this sword." Kamisori replied evenly, "And what makes you think those violent days are behind us? It's not the same violence that it _was—_ it's just changed form and been rebranded."

Hayago made a guttural sound of agreement ahead of them.

"Maybe that's all it ever is, in Kirigakure." Utakata prophesied bleakly, "We transform and reinvent violence when we think it's behind us.

At the perimeter gate of the village, a guard whistled at the sight of their singed attire, wondering what trouble they'd gotten up to.

* * *

Kamisori woke in the evening the next day. The escape and second-degree burns had not taken _that_ much out of him, he thought. Where had all of his energy gone? He had not even spoken more than a few words to his wife when he came home, let alone commemorated their new marriage.

He rolled beneath fluffy covers, stretching his arm out over Kuina's unoccupied pillow. He heard a crunch. Kamisori sleepily opened his eyes wider and drew back a paper note in his hand.

Kuina had scrawled on it: _Transferring the Byakugan today from the Mizukage's prisoner. Surgery will be short. I'll be staying in Mist overnight to observe patient and prisoner recovery. PLEASE, do not accept any new missions until I get back and have my way with you. I didn't want to bug you like some sex-starved nympho when you came home. Just be waiting in bed for me in 48 hours. –Kuina_

"Huh." He said to himself, amazed.

Kyonjin had already awarded him the time off he'd been hoping for, and with that, had not been overly outraged by rebels taking the outpost. It looked like a long weekend of celebratory sex was ahead of him, and thank goodness for that. Kamisori also noted that Nagayoshi had promised _Nuibari's_ repair would go quickly, and he could pick it up tomorrow night. He would not be getting Hayago's senior discount, though.

Kamisori flipped over Kuina's note expectantly and found a grocery list. Her intuition was right on the money. He'd stop in the village for something, and inevitably bring home milk, rice, and other things medics were too tired to pick up after a shift. It was very husband-ish to do such a thing, he thought.

Yes, he liked this domestic, marital version of himself more than his young, foaming-at-the-mouth killer persona of old. And Kamisori was sure that Kuina would too.

* * *

In the operating room, Kuina had spent the entire extraction marveling at the fact that Jokichi was not screaming at her. Rather, had not confronted her or called her out on her machinations to keep the Chief Medic title. Kuina's only conclusion was that Kyonjin had not addressed the matter yet, likely to keep Jokichi calm for the procedure. He had no idea that she ratted on him.

Once Ao was fitted with the foreign, white eyeball and his pathways soldered with Jokichi's precise chakra, Kuina took over care of the anesthetized Hyuga while Guo helped Jokichi move Ao to a post-op room.

Less than an hour later, in a barred cell with a patient bed not nearly as comfortable as Kuina had requested, the Hyuga prisoner began to come to.

"You might be a little disoriented." She spoke in a slow, raised voice, "I'm Kuina. The chart said your name is Hyuga Himori."

His head lolled towards her, a single eye peering up at Kuina. He weakly touched his hand to the bandages on the right side of his face.

"I'm going to look after you, Himori. The Mizukage agreed that we can release you back to Konohagakure."

"You took the Byakugan." His voice was soft, defeated.

"I didn't _take it._ I don't have it." Kuina corrected, "It was given to someone else. I was ordered to remove your eye, I hope you understand."

He affirmed, "I understand." Himori patted the left side of his face anxiously, and then glanced around, "Why are you in this cell with me?"

"To make sure you aren't having complications."

"I might attack you."

"You could try." Kuina acknowledged, "But I know neither of us really wants to fight. Not when you're like this."

"You're a medic-nin."

She nodded.

"I won't be released." Himori realized, "I'll be ransomed."

"Isn't it enough to know that you get to live?"

"It isn't when I become a burden to my clan and my village." He tried to sit up and exhaled roughly, plopping back down, "If fate is kind they will already believe I am dead."

"How morose." Kuina pressed her fingers to his wrist and studied her timepiece, taking his pulse.

"Don't try to help me, miss."

"It's Kuina. We're on a first name basis now."

He frowned up at her, utterly bewildered by her attitude.

She pulled up his blanket, wondering if a second quilt would be needed to fight the chill in the room.

"Do you think you'll want to eat anything soon? I know they didn't feed you prior to the anesthesia."

Himori continued to look at her as if he was working something out.

"What's wrong?" The staring was beginning to squeeb her out, with the single, gypsum eye soaking her in.

"Are we still in Kirigakure?" He asked.

"Yes."

"You can't be from here."

"I am." Kuina confirmed.

"This village does not have kind shinobi."

"Generally, no, not very many." She agreed, "My mother was from the Hidden Eddy Village, if that helps you make sense of it."

" _Ah._ " He did get it.

"So…some stew? I'll be right back with it." She offered.

Himori smiled tiredly at her.

* * *

The next day at 9:50AM, Kuina returned from a small nap after having checked on Himori all night. Guo had rotated with her from 1:00AM to 9:30AM. The hair on the back of Kuina's neck rose as she entered the silent, patient-detainment ward.

At first she noticed that the bed had been pushed from the wall towards the center of his cell. A few steps nearer, Kuina could see it positioned beneath ventilation ductwork on the ceiling, around which the bed's blanket had been tied. She dashed to the pass-lock cabinet, swiped her card, and retrieved an emergency key.

Kuina unlocked and wrenched the cell door open, slid the bed to the right with her foot, and touched her hand to the skin of Himori's arm where he hung. He was cold.

"Himori!" She leapt onto the bed. Kuina had never stretched her arms so far in her life, reaching to tug the knot of the blanket out, bracing her hand beneath him as it went slack. She let him down gently and flattened him on the floor.

Initiating chest compressions and rescue breaths, Kuina could not begin to estimate how long he'd been left unattended. She did not want to guess how long he had been hanging there by himself.

' _How could you?'_ She thought, exhaling into his mouth where she could still taste last night's stew, _'Is there no one at home praying for your return? Not a wife, your parents, your children, or anyone in your clan? It wasn't worth holding out to see the result?'_ Kuina had kept a palm flat on his forehead, glowing with green chakra, scanning for a glimmer of brain activity, a twitch— anything. For a time, she continued breaths and compressions until she realized that even if he was revived, he had gone without oxygen for too long.

No. It wasn't about who was waiting for him or praying for him. It was about saving face. Kuina tried to empathize, tried to imagine being **him** after losing an eye and then reuniting with the Hyuga clan, those who prized their Doujutsu above all else. She imagined the scorn and contempt, the murmurs behind her back, the shame. Himori had been unsure about receiving mercy from Hidden Mist, but he **was** certain that the Hyuga would forever ostracize him for his maiming. She liked to daydream that Konoha was an idyllic place to live, but of course there were going to be exceptions.

A guard arrived at the doorway, having been alerted upstairs by an alarm that sounded with the use of an emergency key. The Chunin slowly walked over to the cell and took in the sight, watched Kuina smooth the man's hair as she held his head.

"Chief?" The guard spoke quietly, "What happened?"

It took her a full minute to swallow the thickness in her throat, and Kuina gave a wobbling answer, "I came to check on him for breakfast…take vitals…" She roughly jabbed the back of her hand beneath her eyes to swipe away tears, "He hung himself."

"I'm sorry, Chief Yuki. I should have sent Hasegawa down here quicker. I let him do clean-up and maintenance on floor 2…" The guard entered the cell and knelt down, a genuine spirit, and slid the prisoner's remaining eye shut.

She shook her head. It wasn't their fault. They were guards on the upper level, not chaperones. Kuina wondered if she had woken up an hour earlier, if she had eliminated the small gap between her shift and Guo's, _'I could've prevented it. I didn't think he had it in him…so I didn't recommend suicide watch.'_ Kuina glanced at the guard's name-tag.

She cleared her throat, "Morohashi-san…"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Can you call Ōe Guo for me on extension four? He'll be at the adjoining inpatient clinic." Kuina batted one last time at her face with the sleeve of her scrubs, "I'm going to move Himori's body to the mortuary in the meantime."

She really wanted to believe, while Morohashi helped her lift the body onto the bed, that dead or alive the Hyuga clan would want their kin returned. Sadly, she could make a better case for it now that he'd expired, if the Mizukage intended to protest Himori's living release.

Kuina walked with her chin tucked through the detainment ward to retrieve a gurney at the far end of the building. She watched from across the room as Morohashi lifted a phone receiver at the wall and spoke in low tones to her apprentice.

* * *

Kamisori heard the ptarmigan on the roof, Debumaru, _jumming_ in welcome when Kuina returned home around noon. He was heating a kettle for tea when the woman slipped through the front door without a word, not her usual "I'm home!" announcement, and peeled her boots off. Her shoulder bag was stuffed with scrubs, sensible shoes, and other necessities. She threw it violently, and the satchel hit the edge of the sofa and _plopped_ softly to the floor.

"Kuina." He didn't cross over to her. He watched her, felt her energy— it was all wrong.

She pulled her scarf and coat off, shaking bits of accumulated snow from the clothing before hanging it in the closet beside the genkan.

He finished adding the dried _hojicha_ to a strainer and left it on the kitchen counter, finally making his way over to the woman when she slid down to the floor beside the low table. Kuina rested her head on a zabuton in silence.

Kamisori settled in the space on her opposite side and pulled her head into his lap instead. His palm flattened her bangs back from her forehead so he could see her face unobstructed. The skin around her eyes was raw and red, face pale, lips cracked.

"Did someone hurt you?" He asked quietly.

"Not directly." She felt phlegm in her throat and tried to dislodge it, "When I started my second shift, I found my patient had killed himself."

He continued carding fingers through her hair, nodding.

"I was hopeful for him. Mizukage-sama wanted to ransom him for money back to the Hyuga clan. He promised me we'd use the payment to fund the Medical Corps and order supplies we've lost. Maybe I would've…" She rubbed her running nose, "I would've been happy to announce it at my next committee meeting…but I really just wanted him to live."

"I know you wanted that." Kamisori agreed.

"He gave up."

"He was scared."

"Of what?" She hissed, "Of living? Why does everyone think it's so fucking scary?"

"Because it is." Kamisori reminded her, "You may have calmed him for a while. Don't think it didn't matter."

"How am I not supposed to think that?"

"If I had been a prisoner in another village and lost part of what constituted my prestige— my talent and pride…returning as a damaged member of my clan would have been agony. I would have considered it a fate worse than death." Kamisori added, "But now I don't care about my standing with the Yuki enough to fear that fate. If I were still bound to them— well…I understand why he despaired."

"I refuse to believe it would've been that bad."

"He might have been forced into the Branch Family, as the Hyuga often cast off their disabled and dishonored."

She repeated, "I _refuse_ to believe it would have been worse than dying."

"You'll never know." Kamisori assured her, "It wasn't your life. It wasn't your suffering. You can never know what was in his heart."

Her facial features arranged themselves in a scrunched, pained manner. She pulled his attentive hand down lower and kissed his fingers. When the kettle whistled, Kamisori sighed and slowly extricated himself. Kuina sat up when he went to make the tea.

"Do you have time off?" He asked over his shoulder.

"Three days." She confirmed, rising to retrieve her abused bag, "I'm going to take a bath."

Kamisori gestured with a teapot in his hands, brows raised, "You don't want tea or something to eat?"

"No. I had some decent clinic-stew last night. I'd rather get the…smell off of me…" Kuina could still detect a whiff of death and hospital even in her change of clothes, "Then I'll sleep."

"I got your note."

"Oh? Then you also got some things we needed, I take it?"

He nodded as he settled at the table, delicately sliding back his tunic sleeve like some aristocrat before pouring tea. Kamisori's azure eyes rose and trolled up her form in a slow taunt. Kuina took a moment to remember what she had written for him, wondering if she still had a shred of motivation within her to have sex. _'I'd make a mockery of the act if I tried…'_ Exhaustion had cast the background of their home in a _bokeh_ blur around her snowy haired trophy-husband.

She accepted a cup of tea when he handed it to her, announcing, "I'm going to drink this, clean up, and sleep. Join me?"

"After I bring in more firewood." Kamisori agreed.

On her way down the hall, she spied the hearth to her left was burning low cinders. That explained the draft and the ice-cold floors. She finished her tea in a few gulps, nearly scalding her tongue as she tried to warm up. Natural light poured in from the master bath's window. She left the teacup on the vanity, undressed, turned taps, brushed her teeth.

As the tub filled with hot water, Kuina sat on a bathing stool and went over herself with a damp cloth. _'How do I know…if I had been there…Himori wouldn't have bided his time to harm himself later?'_ It occurred to her that there was no absolute way for her to safeguard her patient, _'He made up his mind.'_ She shook her head, frustrated, adding a dollop of shampoo to her hair. There may have been a way to convince him if she had spent more time finding the right things to say.

' _It's not your job to persuade people to live. A person must decide that on their own. Your job is try to give them a bit longer— heal what others tear apart.'_ That was her own philosophy, Jokichi's philosophy before hers, and now it was Guo's mantra as well. It had been a vain effort to try to save Weno long ago when he decided his next breath had no value. Her words had been meaningless to him.

' _But Dad used to say that Mom…talked people off of ledges. That she galvanized people who gave up or ran away. That was her talent.'_ Kuina recalled as she dumped water to rinse her hair, _'Dad said people from the Uzumaki clan were good at that.'_ Not her, apparently. Her diluted blood now belonged to the Yuki and it clearly spoke of her inability to inspire.

By the time she had stepped into the tub, Kuina supposed that she was not to blame after all. What was the point in speculating on a better outcome? The man was dead. And she was home taking a bath. Case closed.

She soaked for a while, distantly listening to the _clop_ of wood being cut apart outside.

Kuina poked a toe from beneath the surface of the tub water. She thought of her husband outside, _'Kamisori does seem to be…the kind of person who would participate in a graduation exam that way. He hasn't talked about it, or talked much about his family or anything…and I won't force the issue.'_ She was not at all surprised that he was an efficient killer, as Guo had described. Kuina did not feel compelled to make Kamisori admit to it. _'Perhaps it'd have been weirder if he was a spineless homebody, climbing to the rank he's at…'_

So maybe he'd been a brute. A killer. A no-good lowlife. Maybe Kamisori still was all of those things? Maybe he was _worse?_ Kuina considered it. That description fit just about everyone in Hidden Mist. She'd be the odd-man out of the population for her compassion and nurturing demeanor…if one could overlook how opportunistic and selfish she was. There were worse things she could be, Kuina imagined.

If she'd been born into the lowest caste in Mist, Kuina guessed she would be all of those things _plus_ impoverished, overworked, disposable, and mentally unstable— fodder for the front lines of the war. Being in the tier above _that_ was all thanks to her Arashino ancestors having fed Kirigakure fresh fish since time immemorial, which secured her people safety and priority in the village. _'But then you have Kamisori who comes from wealth…and his clan encouraged violent behavior in him anyway. Maybe it comes as no surprise that villagers hate ninja with Kekkei Genkai, when clans perpetuate savagery without ever trying to change…'_

Pruning, Kuina rose and drained the tub, hurriedly cocooning herself in a towel.

' _As long as he treats me well and doesn't hurt or betray me, I don't want to know what Kamisori was up to before knowing me.'_ She decided as she dried off, _'I'm curious. Maybe he'll tell me, eventually. I don't see the point in asking now.'_

She glimpsed down the hallway before crossing to their bedroom. Kuina supposed Kamisori was still outside. She pulled a sleepshirt and soft shorts on at the closet, tousled her hair one last time with her towel before dropping it in a hamper. She brushed her hair with half a mind, _'It feels like it warmed up in here. He probably got the fire circulating.'_ She tottered through the room as her faculties shut down.

The bed had not been made well. It was not Kamisori's forte. Kuina collapsed onto it, too tired to burrow beneath the comforter, and hugged a pillow beneath her chin as she lay on her stomach.

Sweet relief. Better than the best hotel bed, better than the fluffiest, doubled-up futon in the classiest ryokan in the Water Country…

She was not sure what time it was when consciousness prodded at her, minutes or hours later. With pitiful brain activity, she realized she heard her own soft snore rattling through a nostril. She had fallen asleep face-first where she'd landed. Her eyelids parted, vision blurred and almost useless, making out the hands of the bedside clock telling 'afternoon,' but she was not into the particulars of what hour. To the left side of the room she heard a dresser drawer shutting.

Kuina slowly rotated her head towards the sound, her eyes unseeing slivers, spotting the blurry form of her husband putting away gloves and kunai holsters that had been lying about. She'd sort of dropped them wherever, and he was quite good about picking up after her. Still sleep delirious, she watched as he pulled his v-neck up over his head. Kuina closed her eyes before he could catch her awake, listening to him walk around the room softly and undress. Her nose detected a whiff of bath soap coming from his direction, that maybe he'd cleaned up after stinking of sweat, wood, and fireplace.

She wondered for a moment why anyone ever bothered to pretend they were asleep and believe they were fooling someone. Her heart raced when she felt the foot of the bed bend under his weight. Kuina guessed she was not fake-snoring convincingly enough. She just wanted to spy on him in his natural habitat. There was only so much out-right staring she could direct at the stud who had married her. She felt him hovering, perhaps trying to decide how to move her to get to the blanket she had trapped.

Then she saw Kamisori's hand press to the bed beside her face, his arms at right angles as if to execute a push up, and he leaned down and kissed the back of her left bicep. Her face was tucked into her arm, and he had leveled his face with hers, observing curiously. The pattern of her snore had definitely changed.

"You're awake."

She croaked tiredly.

"Sorry if I woke you."

"You didn't really." With a satisfied sigh, Kuina pressed her face further into her pillow, "I can still…" She didn't have the chance to drift off again because he was kissing up the back of her arm. He even kissed over the fabric of the shirt until he crossed to her exposed neck, fastening his lips there.

This was his routine, she noted: letting her sleep in fragments after work, expecting attention from her even when it felt like her soul had vacated her body she was so exhausted. _'I ought to try it on him after he's beat from missions…'_

Kamisori had migrated, bunching her shirt up around her middle, and she felt him trace fingers down her spine and he stopped at the dimples of her lower back. She was partially awakened when she next felt him tug her sleep shorts from her waist and slide them off her bottom.

"I will literally…" Kuina's voice rasped tiredly, "Freeze my butt off without those."

"You won't." He'd pulled the shorts free of her ankle and tossed them, palming a cheek in his hand, "I built a fire in the _irori_."

"Thanks for that. I'll chop next time." She choked on her yawn when he squeezed. He had some kind of fascination with her ass; which was relatively average, bubble-shaped, and _somewhat_ firm, but nothing Kuina could say she was proud of.

"Cold?"

"No, no." She could feel him moving but he was beyond her line of sight while she laid prone. He was somewhere _back there_ on the ample space of the bed, hands sliding unhindered all over skin. It _was_ a bit chilly, but his hands burned hot and the sensation zinged across her nerve endings. Kuina felt the pads of his thumbs slide along her flanks, the edges of her stomach, up her sides, down again to squeeze her ass. She had to tilt her head to try to breathe properly.

When next she heard his voice, it was a bit more distant, coming from below where he had arranged her knees, her posterior slightly raised in the air, "You said 48 hours."

"Did I _say_ that?" Kuina gulped air, shivering at the touch of his lips skimming along her backside.

"In your note. You were expecting me here." Kamisori reminded her, "You wanted to do this."

Her affirmative reply petered off into a strangled yelp as he braced one of her thighs, his other hand sinking into the flesh of her ass to raise it higher. She was not quite sure where he intended to aim, pressing his open mouth to the nether-region just beyond her pink folds. The angle was wrong. Kuina figured he just really liked the view, even if it wasn't suited for the task he had in mind.

"Seems stupid in hindsight," She remarked, trying to stop her voice from warbling, "I didn't want to bother you while you were exhausted from a mission…and then you end up initiating this while _I'm_ tired."

Kamisori tapped the backs of her thighs as he rolled. Taking the hint, Kuina raised her hips a bit more so he could slide beneath her like a mechanic, lying on his back, his face level with her navel. "Kuina." He said severely, "Always bother me this way when I'm tired."

She noted the suggestion, nodding blearily into her pillow as his hands slid across and squeezed her backside, pressing her down to the slickness of his mouth. He had not tried something like this since late summer. The sounds of his mouth working were scandalous, and Kuina conceded several grunts she had been trying to silence. She stole a furtive glance to the rear, and could only see his arms looped around her, could only feel the hair atop his head tickling her stomach.

The flat of his tongue glided over her in the pattern that made her squirm the most. Kamisori repeated it diligently, hyper aware of her reactions, rubbing fine little circles over her clit and then quelled the trembling feeling that built in her with his lips, kissing gently. He sent his hands to acknowledge her silken skin, trailing his fingernails across the valleys of her petite curves and slim limbs.

He'd had plenty of time to learn how to do these things, and with many partners. More often, he came back to the smaller, slighter, suppler women; of all colors and tones _except_ for blondes, which he'd developed a weird aversion to.

Those partners had shelf lives between two weeks and three months, consistently. That was it. That was all the time needed to learn where to touch, slide, and squeeze. Kuina had fit his kink front-to-back when he'd first laid eyes on her, and he was further bamboozled by her intelligence, which was a scarce feature in the forty-someodd faces he'd entertained before hers. By the time they'd first made love and he discovered that she owned a hamster, and that Higashikuni had trained her, he was uncomfortably obsessed; picking on qualities he found in Kuina that he wanted to hoard all to himself. Like how she kept quiet during sex. How she could speed-read. Her talent for budgeting and saving money. That she was sedate. Gentle. Selfish. Naive. She was new and familiar all at once. Then six months had gone by, surpassing his tried and true limit of female companionship, and Kamisori was determined to keep her from the rest of the world.

Kuina was more than he'd bargained for. She was not a genuine Mist-bred native, not where her maternal ancestry was concerned. Her teeth were too flat. She was non-violent. She'd make an exquisite jinchuriki. Nearly two decades prior, her father had the gall to send her eight kilometers from their fishing village to and from Kirigakure's Academy to learn how to be a ninja, probably uncertain whether she'd safely make the commute each day. She was an amalgam of variables that had, somehow, retained whatever speck of _good_ remained in Hidden Mist. Kamisori eventually gave up on being surprised that he was attracted to her. She had plenty of eyes on her, even now: the Mizukage, the Sealing Corps, the Medical Corps…but she kept her eyes _on him._ He'd even tried to stay out of sight, to no avail.

He slipped his hands away from her backside and shimmied out from under her. Kamisori had to press down to encourage her to lay flat on the bed again, for Kuina had kept the pose hopefully. She gruffed in aggravation. He was back to pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to her backside. Kuina made no comment on it even though several one-liners came to mind.

She tipped her head back and asked, "Sori, can we please-?" Before she could finish asking he had moved between the parallels of her legs and pushed himself inside her. Kuina drummed her feet on the mattress, holding cries in her throat, overwhelmingly pleased by the tension, the heaviness of him grappling with her hips to nearly crush her under his weight. Also, the angle was precise, practiced.

Kamisori rolled his body to seat himself more deeply, a wave undulating from his shoulders and down his back. The smoothness of her ass against his stomach tantalized him and he stifled a groan. He trained his eyes on the back of her neck, indigo blue hair swept aside along that pale column.

The sensations flooding him sent his brain batty signals; all the meaningless years behind him upended by this _need_ for one person— an irrational, chemical demand to throw himself at things that hurt her, and to spend hours doting on what physically or intellectually pleased her. Insane notions like commitment, or worthiness; of actually, maybe, striving for advanced age if he was lucky enough to survive…that such a thing would be pleasant in Kuina's company. Crazier still: that more and more he wanted to parade her in front of his clan and show her off; not like they were sociable enough these days to give a damn about a new addition— the Yuki were too busy accounting, arguing, and ambushing foes to care about new members or spouses. Kamisori gripped her hips, the in-and-out slide of his length into her drenched folds, wishing she would cry out and send a tremor down his spine.

His pace quickened and he kissed between her shoulder blades, still swamped with strange ideas that tagged along with the heat, the tight pleasure electrifying him.

She was saying something. His ears needed a moment to unscramble the words in his useless, bloodless brain, "Kamisori," Ah, his name. Kuina's voice was breathy, slightly higher in pitch. "—don't want to sleep…can I do what I want to you…after this? All day?" Her crooning sounds tapered off, delighted, reacting with low moans as his thrusts slowed and deepened.

He could barely come up with an answer. It _sounded_ like he agreed but it was mostly growling. She had started grinding back against him and it was just… _much_. Too much. It messed the pace up, and he felt she was very selfish about getting her way when he just wanted to move slow and savor her unbelievable insides and outsides.

Between husky noises and warbling Kuina shared her ideas, mostly about what she would do to his ass, and Kamisori was not very inclined towards such things considering what he'd endured as a child. Not that he'd mention it now. But just the sounds of her, the smells of her assured him that she should absolutely be doing whatever she wanted to with him, for it could not possibly be wrong. He sped up, hissing, leaving fingernail marks in her sides as he took quite a time to empty himself inside of her.

The problem with women, he thinks, is that some of them just keep going even if their partner is spent. Kamisori had only just slipped out of her and collapsed on his side of the bed, oxygenating, and then Kuina was fully awake, wide-eyed, and pawing at him.

"A bit later…" He requested, eyes half-lidded, trying to catch her quick hands and failing as she touched him. Sure. Butt things. Whatever she wanted. Such a curse and a blessing she does not tire the way he does, he thought, but ten minutes should allow him to recover. How easily she forgot she had worked an eight hour shift. To taunt him, Kuina settled herself next to him, caught his gaze with a smile and touched herself in front of him.

Kamisori watched her in fascination and noted: he would not be picking up his repaired sword later. No, he was certainly not bothering with that. Also, they could eat dinner in the morning. There was simply no time for any such nonsense.

* * *

That evening, Zabuza had heard that Terumi Mei had tried her luck against Hayago's team. She had melted _Nuibari_ with her Kekkei Genkai. Kamisori just wasn't _with it_ anymore, these days. Way too fucking domesticated.

He was also very skeptical of this young Terumi rebel being an effective leader, or what her endgame was for ousting the Mizukage, but Zabuza thought maybe it'd be entertaining to watch her try.

From his apartment window, he watched the Suikazan estate burning on the east side of the village. Zabuza made some assumptions of what such a fire could mean in the stately house of such a renowned clan in Mist.

As far as he knew, Kisame had screwed up when trying to assassinate Fuguki, his uncle and the previous wielder of Samehada. Kisame had still walked away with the sword afterward and, for political reasons, ended up staying in Kirigakure to advocate for his father's rise to power in the Suikazan clan. He, as a bastard child no-account who had no stake in the shark-and-fish faced clan whatsoever, could only operate on the peripheries. Suikazan children used to throw dried persimmons at him to remind him of his  _otherness._ "Hoshigaki! You look a bit blue today!" He remembered watching Kisame stand and take it without a word.

Zabuza was certain that Kisame wanted to run away and be done with it all, especially with the maimed and dishonored hypocrite Fuguki still bumbling around. At the moment, Kisame's somewhat capable father had a burning castle to extinguish. Fuguki's doing, probably. That vengeful, jealous fraud…

He heard Haku in the background dragging a chair across the floor so that he could stand on it and work at the stove.

Tomorrow, Zabuza resolved, he would find out if Kisame had stayed or finally fled the village. With so much attention centered on Suikazan drama, Zabuza guessed the time to sneak Haku through Mist's nooks and back alleys would be now.

"Can you make some rice, Zabuza-san?"

Zabuza shut the blinds as he peeled himself away from the window. He fetched the container of rice from the cabinet.

"What were you looking at?" Haku wondered, using a spoon to swirl vegetables 'round a pan coated with oil.

"A fire."

Haku regarded his face for a moment and picked up some subtle details.

"You could see it all the way from here." Haku supposed.

"An old team mate's home is burning." He said, measuring rice and water to add to the rice cooker, "He'll deal with it."

"It's winter."

"Yeah."

"Will he have anywhere to go?"

"Who cares?" Zabuza sniffed, "He created most of his own problems. He'll manage."

"We could-"

" _We_." Zabuza repeated pointedly, "We **what?** We have nothing to give. Nothing to offer. Don't be charitable to those you don't know, Haku. Kisame isn't the sort to appreciate it anyway."

Haku turned back to the vegetables and did not comment further. Zabuza flipped the switch of the rice cooker. He could smell a fillet in the fish oven. Continually, he was surprised how Haku could determine the functions of household appliances with almost no explanation. The setting was a bit high, though. He turned it down.

"Tomorrow," The man announced, "We're going to try to move through the village unnoticed."

Haku's head snapped up, "Really?"

He nodded, "You've started Taijutsu forms, but we don't have enough room to review or spar in here. We need to be outside." Zabuza set bowls on the table and added, "There's a bamboo grove just outside of the village. The weather's been poor and everyone will be distracted by the burning castle tomorrow."

"I can use the Transformation Jutsu." Haku flicked the spoon in Zabuza's direction, catching on, "No one will know who I am."

"Or know that we're associated."

"Is the grove very far from here?"

"A few kilometers. It'll stretch your legs." He estimated, "There are alleys and outlets that go downtown and circumvent security checkpoints. We'll pass through the merchant gate, which is probably frozen over anyway…pass the river boat rentals, and enter the grove."

"I can do that."

"I know." Zabuza confirmed, "Otherwise I wouldn't have suggested it."

Haku watched the man's face again with a fleeting, thoughtful expression before turning back to his task. Haku imagined that Zabuza had not been assigned a mission the next day, and was thereby able to invest more time in training him. Training in hand-to-hand combat would be a challenge, but so far he had enjoyed what he learned. Zabuza was very talented at locking joints, grappling, and attacking the weaknesses of the human body. He had bent Haku into a pretzel on the living room floor, and the boy resolved that it was definitely a worthwhile skill.

They ate dinner without so much as an attempt at conversation. Zabuza stewed over how Haku unflinchingly looked him in the eye from across the table. The boy chewed, relaxed, sometimes refilling Zabuza’s teacup before his own. Not many people dared to gaze upon him the way Haku did. While it seemed ass-backwards and ignorant, Zabuza commended the boy’s steeled trust and loyalty, communicated clearly in his eyes. Those were qualities he would always foster in Haku.

Zabuza cleared the table afterward and Haku went to the window, peeking out between two slats. He stood there for a while, staring at the glowing rooftop in the distance, illuminating the stark, featureless sky of night. Zabuza called him over and said it was time to sleep. They would be waking up before dawn.

“People were still inside of that house?” Haku wondered as he trailed behind Zabuza to the bedroom, “Was someone trying to hurt them?”

“Pretty sure.”

His face fell. Zabuza stared down at him and then unceremoniously snapped the light off.

Haku was probably associating the icy doom of his home and parents with the smoldering Suikazan homestead. 

“They’re ninja. They can escape.” Zabuza peeled back the blanket and allowed his charge to clamber up first, “The worst of the danger lies with those who escaped…and are likely fighting those who set the fire. It’ll be a mess.”

“Ninja of the same clan.”

“Yeah. Just because they’re related doesn’t mean they always agree or work together.”

Huddled underneath the blanket, Haku laid facing him, his brown eyes watery and brewing with thoughts.

“My mother’s clan is also my clan. Do they work together?”

Zabuza pressed his mouth into a line, “You don’t have a clan. You have me.”

A frigid, desolate expression wracked the child’s face. 

Cursing in aggravation, Zabuza roughly rubbed his chin, correcting the statement, “You can’t be with them. You are a part of them, but you are outside of them. You always will be. I’m outside of everyone here in this village. No one wants to be close to me. I don’t belong. That’s just how it works.”

“We don’t belong.” Haku concurred quietly, “That’s why we can work together.”

“That’s why.”

“Does the Yuki clan fight each other?” He pressed again.

Zabuza relented, “Sometimes.”

“Would they do _that_ to each other?” Haku was referring to the fire.

“No. I don’t think they’d do something so stupid. They have better ways of getting even.”

Haku was unsure of how to take the statement, eventually opting for a somewhat positive connotation.

“I know someone like you.” The man rolled to his side and explained, “From your clan. He’s older than me. Not strong like he used to be…but we’re going to go where he is.”

“And we can work together.” Haku imagined a group of three.

“We can.”

“Will he dislike me?”

“Maybe.” Zabuza half-shrugged, stifling a yawn, “But that’s not the point. Whether or not he likes you has nothing to do with him hurting you. He won’t.”

Haku nodded and sidled in, spoiled, curling himself into Zabuza’s chest and pushing his face into the man’s warm t-shirt. It thawed his chilled nose.

“You shouldn’t do that.” Zabuza advised passively.  

The boy refused to budge. Haku’s hands clenched the fabric of the shirt, restlessly fighting the loneliness at the edge of his mind. 

He laid awake for a long while, well after Haku had fallen asleep. Zabuza didn’t bother prying him off and settling him a respectable distance away on the bed. He patted the child’s soft hair until he too fell asleep.


	13. The small hand that holds my string

"Meet me downstairs." Zabuza said, then turned and dropped from the open window.

Haku completed the motion of zipping a heavier jacket over his gi, tapping his toes snuggly into snow boots…and then crossed over to the window to pull it shut.

They had woken in the pitch dark of morning to set out unnoticed for the bamboo grove. The boy wound the too-long scarf around his neck and then exited the flat. The corridor of the building was stale with cold, and Haku descended several flights of steps, down, down, down to the main floor without so much as a mouse setting eyes on him.

A _whoosh_ of winter air suctioned into the apartment complex when Haku pushed open the glass vestibule door, his lungs filling gloriously with circulated, outside-world oxygen. Before he could poke around curiously in the dark and survey the empty quad and its iced-over sidewalks, a clipped sound came from around the corner. Haku reacted to Zabuza's soft call and skirted around the building, joining him in an unlit alley.

"Transform." The man told him.

Ah, that was the other part of it. Warm vapor tendriled from out of his nose as Haku exhaled, envisioning an adequate disguise.

He thought of the rowdy, school dropout boy from the second floor who liked to be paid for errands in cigarettes. Haku had watched him clandestinely from behind door cracks for quite some time, studying the older child and how he interacted with adults. His mind's eye had captured the tattered clothes, greasy, unshorn hair, and dirty cheeks… He held the _Ram Seal_ and altered his appearance with a dose of chakra. Zabuza made another slight sound of approval before stalking off, letting his companion tag along a few meters behind him.

The fire across town had been put out during the night. Smells of charred materials carried on the wind, and bits of black ash swirled with stray snowflakes in pre-dawn dimness.

A hint of human activity in the dark came from that direction, surrounding the Suikazan castle, but Zabuza picked through abandoned streets into deep, dark quiet. Haku could not get a grasp of his surroundings visually, soon concluding there was no point in trying to memorize the layout of Kirigakure's streets at the moment. He tried to make his steps as soundless as Zabuza's ahead of him.

With no instruction or warning, Zabuza took a hard left and leapt over a concrete perimeter wall and into a shipping yard. Haku took several fortifying breaths, first making a pathetic attempt to follow. His fingers extended above to full height, and he came nowhere close to the top edge of the wall that the man had cleared. The boy stood, puffing, momentarily perplexed.

' _He wants me to. He wants me to do it myself!'_ Haku was certain of it. This was no different from trying to tag Zabuza on the roof of their apartment building, or avoiding shuriken, or using his chakra wisely for Supplementary jutsu. The training manual indicated that even novice ninja could perform incredibly athletic feats, going from the graphics and illustrations he'd seen in the book. Not that it gave a thorough explanation of _how_ they did it.

But he didn't need the explanation. His blood was _ringing_ with how to do it, with generations-old strength. Haku remembered the flighty feeling in his veins when he had pierced his family farmhouse with spikes of ice. He held onto that instinctual hint as best he could, and then jumped again, reaching farther than he had at first. _'Zabuza won't wait for me…'_ Haku drowned himself in the feeling, tapping chakra, clueless as to how best to apply it, and ran down the block along the wall before making his next best attempt. Haku sprang towards a support pillar and bounced off of it, light as a cat, taking a single vertical step up the concrete slab and daintily vaulting over the top.

He dropped and landed on his feet on the other side, folding automatically into a crouch. As he suspected, Zabuza had continued down through a row of shuttered and locked warehouses. He was just barely in sight. Haku rose and sprinted with steps that maybe were a bit too audible, but he doubted anyone was around to hear it. He caught up to Zabuza at the far end of the yard, and they passed through an opening for carts and merchant vessels, toeing over a retaining wall that bordered the bank of the river.

It was only a vague impression, but even though Zabuza said nothing about his jump Haku still had a sense that he was pleased. _'Maybe he was prepared to come back for me if I couldn't make it?'_ He had no desire to ask because now it did not matter.

At the bend of the river, Haku watched in astonishment as Zabuza stepped out and crossed the water's surface as if it were a flat road. He hesitated at the bank and poked the dark water with his foot. With a soft _slosh_ , Haku drew back his dripping boot; quite sure he would sink like a stone. Glancing around, he decided to take a more inventive route: he hopped from the slick bank and onto a moored rowboat, bounding up to a short dock, and then onto stand-alone posts out towards the center of the waterway. He hopped from post to post until there were no more. Haku stood atop the last wood marker like a prospecting waterfowl, eyes searching for his next move.

' _I have to cross the water.'_ He calmed himself down a little. Water was a more agreeable subject than leaping tall obstacles.

Zabuza reached the far bank and was casually entering the bamboo forest.

Breathing more slowly, Haku considered what it would take to freeze the volume of water ahead of him. Estimating the cost of chakra, it would probably be a steep expenditure, and without the guidance of hand seals to channel chakra efficiently (as the manual had iterated) he would exhaust himself by plunging through the task with his Kekkei Genkai alone.

It did not bother him much when Zabuza went beyond his sight. They had reached their intended destination, and Haku was moderately confident he could reunite with his custodian up ahead. He kept his attention on how best to employ his natural gift for Ice Release. Haku slipped his fingers through the motions of hand seals, testing for the _pull,_ seals that drew chakra towards his mind's intention. Some responded more than others, twinging at his chakra, and Haku took time to fiddle and sense what could work.

His brain thrived on such puzzles. Back when he'd lived at the farm, his mother had let him handle many tasks on his own. She had let him write characters with either hand and never told him which way was correct. When his chores were done for the day, sometimes he would lay in tall grass and stare at the sky, woolgathering until he fell asleep. Now with Zabuza, the things he read came alive rapidly in his mind. He could see fictional scenes and characters so clearly, the same way he read words, binding and kneading them into concepts, which so readily danced at his fingertips and in his imagination.

So Haku bent two fingers of his right hand, changing his current hand seal into something he'd not found in the training manual, but it _felt better_. It felt _colder._ He remembered that Zabuza had said there were many hand seals not depicted in manuals or trainee classes.

After allowing his hands to daydream their way to the solution, tethered to the hunch he had, Haku exhaled as he dripped just enough chakra into the frigid air and water…easily freezing the moving water's surface into a plane. He climbed down carefully from the post and set his feet on the solid surface. Haku shed the last doubt nagging at him and continued on with confidence, skating and walking cautiously over ice in the dimness.

Haku stepped off of the sheet and plodded up a gravelly, muddy bank, across dead grass, and then stepped into the bamboo thicket. He could hear Zabuza walking and crunching over the underbrush. He moved in _that_ direction.

Dawn's first sliver of light was nudging the horizon, barely illuminating the clearing they arrived at. Zabuza stopped and regarded Haku for a long moment as the boy released his Transformation, looking like himself again.

"Was it difficult?" The man asked him.

Haku patted his hand across the cylindrical top of a short bamboo sprig, answering, "Yes and no."

"What was tough for you?"

"Jumping."

"That took you less time than crossing the water."

Haku nodded, "Yes, but the water was easier."

"You didn't use as much chakra as I expected you to." Zabuza assessed interestedly.

"I used a seal."

"Which one?"

"Mine." He half-shrugged, folding his hands to show his mentor what he'd used, "This is cold and round. Like a snowball. Like a bird hiding in snow."

"—the heck are you talking about?" Zabuza stepped nearer to inspect the nonsense seal.

"Look." Haku said calmly, "I waited on the post until it felt right. I thought and felt as much as I could. Then I did it." He let the man inspect his hands for a bit longer before dropping them at his sides.

For science, the man tried the seal and found it utterly inert…to him at least, "You invented that. I can't use it."

"Because you don't feel…" Haku trailed off, gesturing as he spoke again, "Zabuza-san, can you feel water without your hands or skin? On the inside?"

"No."

"Or a breeze? Like it whistles on the inside…"

"I don't know. I'm barely understanding what you're getting at, kid." Zabuza informed him, but was privately amazed. Maybe two-thirds of this situation had to do with Haku being disproportionately talented and intelligent for his age, and one-third of it related back to his Bloodline Gift. He'd _never_ heardanyone with a Kekkei Genkai talk about what it felt like to tap into elemental affinities, much less heard a child try to describe it.

He had stepped in proverbial shit with this child prodigy.

Zabuza set down a cloth bag and retrieved a container of dumplings, wordlessly passing it to Haku so that he could eat. The man stalked aimlessly over frosted ground and tree debris, finally coming to a stop and settling in deep squat. He stared ahead catatonically while toiling in his thoughts. Haku watched him and chewed.

"Do you have a family?" Haku asked.

Zabuza turned his head toward the child, "I did."

"A big one?"

"Small. Just me and my parents."

"They died?"

"When I was a kid." He confirmed.

"You have no one else, Zabuza-san?"

"My grandma's still alive. She probably doesn't remember my face after all this time." Zabuza shrugged, "I don't care."

Haku watched him and continued eating, waiting for a trace of remorse or heartache to wince across Zabuza's unwrapped face. It didn't happen. He was unharmed by his solitude.

"We don't belong." Haku repeated, remembering their conversation from the night before. He finished a final bite of dumpling and then wiped his hands on his jacket sleeves.

The boy tottered across the clearing to where Zabuza was stooped, still staring into the forest, and took a squat beside him. He stared at nothing as well for as long as he could tolerate it, and then turned his attention back to Zabuza. Haku curiously prodded the man's triceps that was slightly exposed above a thick, arm-warming sleeve. He patted his own arm to equate.

"You'll get stronger." Zabuza assured him, "And you don't have to be physically strong to be skilled in Taijutsu."

When he rose to stand Haku stood as well.

"Distinction in hand-to-hand combat comes from discipline. You learn principles: breathing, focus, balance, economy of motion…because you don't need much to kick someone's ass."

"You've taught me some of those principles." Haku noted.

"I did. Show me what you remember."

With a swoop of his slim arms, Haku reached above his head to _greet the sun;_ palms facing down as he took a breath, bent at the knees, and lowered his hands to his waist in a descending motion. Zabuza watched the practice warm-up routine from the edge of the clearing. Haku concluded five sets each of hip rotations, arm circles, and leg extensions, then standing while bending in half to bring his nose close to his toes. He straightened and shifted a foot back after that, holding a low _Horse stance_ that stretched the lower back and inner thighs. At that age, Zabuza could remember completing such exercises rigidly. Unlike Haku, it had taken him several years to gain flexibility.

Over dried pine needles and forest debris, Haku sank down from the _Horse stance_ into a full split. His posture was very good. Zabuza supposed it was because the boy had grown so bored while stuck in the apartment, he'd practiced to proficiency. He walked over and set a hand between Haku's shoulders, guiding him with a push to flatten to the ground. He had to loosen up— warm the tiny muscles he'd be working with. Sans a verbal cue, the boy transitioned from the split to continue with a set of push-ups. Zabuza watched nearby with his arms crossed.

When Haku finished and moved to stand, Zabuza shook his head, "Again. Use those arms."

He dropped down without protesting, finishing two more sets of push-ups before he began to wobble and quake. Haku frowned to himself. He was thinking about his physical limits. Zabuza could tell he was considering how to surpass such limits in that quick, young brain of his. Haku hopped to his feet again, knees slightly bent, back straight, rotating his hips while engaging in rapid arm windmills.

Zabuza watched and seemed to drift around the dim, wooded space like a pacing leopard. He ordered more arm exercises, and Haku maintained a _Horse stance_ while throwing well-executed practice punches at thin-air. Zabuza estimated such punches would not even dent a butterfly yet.

"You're thinking about how weak you are." Zabuza noticed. Haku could hear his voice coming from somewhere behind him.

Haku continued without a break, mustering the breath to reply, "I'm-! Weak." There was no point in denying it.

"Don't stay weak. Apply yourself. Be dedicated." Zabuza's voice was pacing the clearing, unseen.

Haku gave a small, sharp cry with one of his punches. He internalized the ideas.

Zabuza imparted other nuggets of wisdom on Haku as the sun crept up behind the thickets of the bamboo grove.

Simplicity yields victory.

The best fighters are also the calmest.

If he were ever pitted against a stronger foe, use his weakness as a lure.

Ninja of the Mist Village are known for solitary strength and cunning, intimidating competitors the world 'round. It was because they understood the properties of water, the staple of their nation.

"Water is formless." He told Haku.

The child repeated the idea, moving through windmills and punches.

"Do not limit yourself. Turn your opponent's energy against them." Zabuza advised, "Flow or crash."

As Haku seemed springier and alert to the lessons, Zabuza made him stop shortly after that. He made the child sip from a canteen before they began forms together. Every few seconds, Zabuza caught a glimpse of Haku from the corner of his eye as they passed through the motions. He was a swift little devil. He'd memorized most of the routine. The soft _taps_ of Haku's fist clapping his palm before measured strikes informed Zabuza that he was keeping up. The sky was bathed in streaks of grey and blue as the sun rose.

After repeating the synchronized routines twice, Zabuza turned to the child for technical instructions. The practical example of the day was: what to do if an adult was hurling a punch at him, or trying to crush his throat. It was a good starting point for self-defense.

Haku's _Chin Na_ locks had to be scaled down for size, as his manipulations of adult wrists, elbows, and knees had to be leveraged over his much smaller limbs. Zabuza towered over him, but was well aware the child could freeze and topple him with the correct applications. He was patient. Haku slid his arm against Zabuza's wrist with as much force as he could muster, planting his small foot so he couldn't be tripped, and then struckZabuza's elbow with the flat of his hand. The move skewed Zabuza's arm away from its intended course. Haku could also catch the man's fingers and twist his arm into painful positions, but not as fast as Zabuza would have liked him to.

"Do it in one motion, like this." Zabuza demonstrated, capturing and contorting Haku's hand easily. The boy winced in pain and shook it off. He tried again.

They practiced until late in the morning. Sweaty and out of breath, Haku took a seat in the clearing and guzzled more water from the canteen. Not nearly as tired, Zabuza stood nearby and chewed on jerky.

"As you get more knowledgeable about the human body, you'll be able to manipulate it more easily." Zabuza walked over and handed Haku a piece of jerky, "I'll teach you everything I've learned from the Black Ops. You're bright enough to understand it."

"But I'm small." Haku noted, "It's hard moving you the way I mean to, Zabuza-san."

"It'll get easier.

They ate their snacks peacefully while the _pipping_ calls of waxwings pierced the boscage and bamboo. Their steamed breaths rose into the winter air.

After a rest, Haku was put to work striking at bamboo stalks to toughen his hands. Once his hands were thoroughly battered, they proceeded with an acrobatic chase as Zabuza emphasized stamina, weaving and leaping through the environment to teach the boy how to move like a shinobi. Training with projectiles was also worked into the conditioning, as Haku was tasked with throwing shuriken at his teacher. Zabuza did not return fire. That was a lesson for another day.

Haku's aim had improved. He quailed after slicing open Zabuza's shoulder and calf. When the child foolishly gawked and opened his guard, Zabuza overtook him, snatched his arm, and hurled him into the underbrush.

"These are superficial injuries." He told Haku, who was vaguely visible in a tangle of stalks and leaves, "Don't lower your guard. Never lower it even if one of us is injured."

Blowing a strand of hair out of his face, Haku stood up and brushed bramble from his clothes. He promised not to forget that. They raced and sprang through the grove, and Haku's line of sight was refined with every toss of a projectile.

Later in the morning they resumed lessons with hand signs. They faced each other as Zabuza positioned his arms and hands in the _Seal of Confrontation._ Haku mirrored it.

"Good, you got it. This jutsu only needs a subtle balance of chakra." Zabuza instructed him, "Watch."

And Haku watched inquisitively, lowering his arms and turning his head in all directions as the chilled air grew thick. Water condensed into a fine fog, and the frost coating on the forest floor gradually sublimated into vapor, as if it were a purely natural occurrence. Haku could feel the twinge of Zabuza's chakra fine-tune the mist, concentrating it into an opaque wall of dew. The boy could hardly see an arm's length in front of his face.

Haku took a few curious steps forward and flicked his hands as if to _shoo_ the wayward haze. Water molecules capitulated to the innate elemental talent of Haku's Blood Limit, and parted when he stepped up to Zabuza. The man looked down at him in fascination. They shared a wordless moment of mutual learning before Zabuza cut off the jutsu.

"You can hide in the mist." Haku observed, "Is that the only hand sign we need to use?"

"The only one that's necessary…with the right amount of chakra." Zabuza assured him, "Or: Ox, Snake, and Ram."

When their surroundings were clearer, Haku positioned his arms and fingers curiously while asking, "What does it feel like? What does this seal mean?"

"Eh, you're referring to your mumbo-jumbo from earlier about what seals _feel_ like?" He rested a hand on his hip, "It's not much of a sensory experience until mist forms."

"But all seals feel like something." Haku claimed.

"Maybe to you, they do…but no. Listen. Seals are a literal association of the technique as it exists in the mind, combining with energy through a conduit, the hand sign, to express it as a result. This is a minor channeling sign that focuses chakra." Zabuza tried to get technical but it didn't work. Haku just copied the way he was standing with a hand on his hip, unruffled by the explanation.

"Haku, I can't tell you how it feels. I don't have a Kekkei Genkai." The man gruffed, "But I can tell you what it means."

Haku raised his slim eyebrows, "What it means?"

They formed the seal again, standing side by side as Zabuza explained, "The _Seal of Confrontation_ is one of the oldest seals there is. Can't say when it showed up…probably when wars first started raging among ninja clans. They used this to express engagement— their intent to go to war. As adversaries."

Startled, Haku dropped his hands and snapped his face toward the man, "As…? But I don't—"

"I need you to practice this for basic jutsu." Zabuza sniffed, "We're not studying seal symbology. That's nerd stuff."

"Zabuza-san," The boy chirped in alarm, "I don't like what it means."

"That doesn't mean you can get away with not learning it."

Haku's shoulder slumped as if to concede to the point. He faced front and formed the _Seal of Confrontation_ again.

"Just so you know: _we_ are not at war. We're training. On the battlefield it's a signal that can't be mistaken, but you aren't supposed to kill those you spar with." Zabuza informed him, "Meanings can change depending on the place and person."

"Right." Haku acknowledged, "Just practice."

"Yeah."

The child looked down at the slight redness and peeling on his knuckles and fingers, turning the idea over in his head. Core knowledge in the ninja training manual had been stark and straightforward, and so some of the nuances that Zabuza shared with him were quite surprising.

Haku asked, "Is there an opposite?"

Zabuza had crossed to the edge of the clearing to rummage through his bag, and looked over his shoulder to respond, "Opposite?"

"If you abandon bonds with the person you must fight, how do you fix them?"

"Haku…" The man palmed his face and rubbed, "Don't read into interpretations. You'll learn seals. You'll use jutsu. That's it. I'm not an adversary."

"So there is an opposite?"

Zabuza sighed roughly and then confirmed, "Well, yeah."

"A seal that means the fight is over?"

"No one 'round here uses it." Zabuza sniffed, pulling another piece of jerky out of his bag.

"I want to know it." Haku insisted.

"It's purely symbolic. You can't use it for jutsu. It's used as a conclusion for trainee combat training."

Haku stood beside him with an unwavering, intense expression. Ten full seconds of exasperation wore him down, and Zabuza stuck the jerky in his teeth to free up his right hand. He extended his hand, index and middle fingers arranged in a half Tiger-Ram seal, motioning with his head for Haku to do the same. They linked their fingers. Haku regarded the exchange quizzically.

Zabuza snipped the dried snack in his teeth and handed half of it to Haku, who accepted it with his free hand. Still linked, Zabuza realized out loud, "This is the first time I've ever used this."

"What is it?" Haku asked before biting into the jerky.

"The _Seal of Reconciliation._ "

"Ah." The boy withdrew his hand, "That does seem better now."

Zabuza stooped down to take a seat on the pine needle bedding of the grove and continued to eat. Haku sat beside him. After a long silence Zabuza explained, "We don't need that, you know."

"You haven't used that with other comrades, Zabuza-san?"

"Never, and I can hardly call any of them comrades now."

"Then how do you know—?"

"You're different." The man snipped, "From them."

"Because we are the same?"

"In the ways that count, yeah."

"Then we won't ever meet in battle?" Hake wondered timorously.

"A ninja doesn't go to war with the sword held in his hand. The sword is a part of him." Zabuza wondered if the explanation was too sophisticated for Haku to digest, but of course the little boy understood, indicating so with a nod of his head.

After that, Haku stood again to practice locking forms and the seal he had been taught.

* * *

A day later, Guo looked over his shoulder in the administrative building to see two clerks down the hall violently shoved— their boxes of paper files scattered loose and slid all over the floor. The pair of workers squawked indignantly as Jokichi bustled past them. He was marching up the corridor with his eyes locked on Guo. The young medic-nin stopped in his tracks and gulped.

Jokichi did an odd little dance around Guo, checking each office on the left and right as if looking for someone else. When he determined there were no others in the vicinity, the old medical officer brought his face nose-to-nose with Guo's.

"Where is that two-timing, meddlesome-bitch teacher of yours?" Jokichi growled, "Ho ho! She and I have major beef now. She's _done it—_ really done it…"

"Jokichi-san—!"

"Where is she, eh? **Kuina?** Someone I thought I could _speak in confidence to about my experiences,_ you know— _that_ lying cunt?" Jokichi roared and brought his fist down on a plaster wall beside them, "Mizukage-sama and I had a talk about why I was _unfit_ to be instated as Mist's Chief Medical Officer…turns out Kuina told him some shit. About me." Strings of spittle landed on Guo's face when the man added, "Guess she likes her job more than she values her peers! Are you her happy little doormat too, Guo?"

Guo tried to straighten himself, gathering nerve, "Jokichi-danna, the only one responsible for undermining your promotions _is you._ If you had been honest with Mizukage-sama—!"

" _No,_ this ain't about honesty or how I lay the foundation for my advancement: you and I both know there are some things you don't tell our paranoid, egg-laying village leader. Period. We keep our lips zipped." Jokichi shoved Guo's shoulders with his palms, backing him against the perpendicular hallway's wall, "But as far as _our_ group's loyalty goes, bleeding heart medics who try to heal the wounds of Kirigakure, well…Kuina seems to think we can tear each other down with the right justification."

Guo batted the man's wrist aside when he tried to make another grab for his vest, "Jokichi-san! She's a good person. She'll always look out for us!"

"What-? Do you repeat that tripe over and over when you try to fall asleep at night?" He clicked his teeth furiously at Guo, " _Wake up,_ Spectacles. This is just the start. She'll fuck us from start to finish if it'll save her career. That lunatic married one of the _Seven Swordsmen_ and didn't bat an eyelash. Either she never questioned her spouse's background, or she is actively _counting_ on what he is— Kuina's set herself up for full bureaucratic immunity under Kyonjin. If _we_ can't speak up for ourselves, and she can send _Yuki Kamisori_ to silence us whenever she wants, how can you honestly believe she's _looking out for us_?"

"Neither of them are like that! Kamisori's—"

"He's a degenerate. A browbeaten killer! Just you wait—" Jokichi hissed.

"Your best friend was one of the Swords, Abe Higashikuni, and he trained Kuina-senpai…" Guo reasoned, moving sideways in the corridor to proceed toward the stairwell, "Can't the same point be made against you? That you have that leverage too?"

"Maybe it could if _Kyonjin still fucking trusted me._ " Jokichi rubbed at his chin, agitated, "But now my word is dirt to the Mizukage. He'll keep me low on the totem pole and work me twice as hard. **And** Higashikuni is the _devil I know._ None of us know shit about Kamisori. Apparently, we don't know shit about Kuina either."

"I trust her." Guo asserted, nostrils flared and mouth pressed in a line, "I know that she takes advantage sometimes. Jokichi, can you honestly say you haven't done the same at some point in your life? Or that I haven't?"

"No, I can't claim to be some innocent little lamb. But I _haven't_ deliberately sold someone out after assuring them I wouldn't tell their secret. I don't _do_ shit like that. I take advantage of people _to their_ _ **faces.**_ _"_ Jokichi declared, "That was my job. She took it. I reserve the right to ream her out about it. I taught that ungrateful anchovy most of what she knows…"

"And she's taught me everything I know."

Jokichi's sneer quirked upward, "Are you so sure you won't turn out just like her, Guo? Better buy some nice rugs so you can lay them under your friends' feet— then give a good yank. I bet you'd do that."

Guo was incensed into a new realm of anger that his easygoing arbitrator, no-screaming, no-punching heart had never before achieved. Before he could sweep-kick Jokichi's legs and smash the man's grizzled cheek with a southpaw, a voice spoke from behind them.

"Jokichi."

Both Guo and Jokichi snapped around, at attention as Toyotomi Hayago swept his spooky orange eyes over them. It wasn't clear how much of the argument he had heard. The veteran continued speaking, "I shouldn't have to come down here to see why the east ward's health inspector has to wait for Guo to deliver a report. Save your pontificating for later, Jokichi." He motioned with his head to indicate to Guo: _get a move on._

With a parting grimace, Guo brushed past Jokichi to ascend the stairwell.

"Well if it isn't the fucking _karma police sergeant_ himself." Jokichi riffled around his coat pocket, drawing out a package of gum, "Hey, do me a favor and deliver some karma to Kuina, why don't cha? She's a thorn in my side."

He observed Hayago's especially unamused expression.

"Huh, right, she's a friend of yours too. Shit! My social circle's lookin' mighty small these days." He offered Hayago a piece of spearmint gum and the man accepted it, "Or…do me one better, Captain Hayago! Look into her future and tell me how she royally fucks up her job and life. I bet you've seen that one already." Jokichi gnashed the gum in his teeth, "Right? Mizukage-sama has you scanning all day long for short-term outcomes with your radio-wave psychic brain stuff."

"Such things will never be any of your business." Hayago warned.

"Yeah…but everything else you pick up is the Mizukage's business, isn't it? I wonder what kind of tiny nudge you give people to steer them to their doom…For some I bet you keep your hands off and just let them burn themselves out!" Jokichi gave the veteran a smarmy look, "A weirdo ability like that landed you a great job. Though you should have gone into insurance, if you ask me."

"I deal in no exactitudes. What I can call upon and act upon are severely limited. And know this: no intervening nudge in fate is _ever_ tiny. What I _see_ should never be mistaken for reliable intel…and yet Kyonjin-sama disagrees." Hayago turned slowly down the connecting hallway, "Recall: there are gag-orders on _the sight_ , the warden, jinchuriki, and such things. Don't bring it up so lightly."

"Suspicious 'fella…hm. Well, I've got a council meeting to sit for in ten minutes…" Jokichi spoke after Hayago, "So if it's all so wishy-washy and people are dumb to invest in what your future-radio-brain reports, how do _you_ hedge your bets? Ain't there anything worth trusting ahead of the present?"

"We decide that every second of every day. You don't need _sight_ to do that."

Jokichi sniffed, "Thanks philosopher _Buzzkill,_ I'll write that one down for posterity. You _have_ to know big stuff. Doesn't it fuck with your head? It's gotta."

Hayago moved on down the corridor and out of sight. If he had stayed and tried to describe to Jokichi, in the feebleness of human language of present-moment expression, what seeing the future was actually like…he'd probably bring up the _Principle of Least Time._ Not that a medic-nin would be familiar with it, but a studied individual like Jokichi could digest such an explanation. Perhaps Jokichi would even superficially get a loose grasp on what living with a Toyotomi brain and its insufferable, sporadic vision-flashes entailed. He would term it "shitty" in all likelihood.

Not all of those _in the know_ about Hayago's family trait assumed it to be a curse. The Mizukage worshipped such a talent, pointedly ignoring how _the sight_ disrupted all manner of basic existence and function for a human being who was designed for 'the present.' Certainly Hayago could pass along landmarks, estimates, and vague descriptions of rebels he did not personally know, and those details were enough for Kyonjin. He considered such a ninja the ideal advisor. The Mizukage did not care that some visions could cripple Hayago with fear or indecision for days on end, rattled and agoraphobic, locked at home.

The devastation he felt when he could not prevent the death or misfortune of others, as it taunted his closed eyelids, Hayago squeezed his eyes shut tighter and begged for no more. When surreal, unexplainable, unknowable sights woke him at night or distracted him from missions, leisure, shopping, cooking, lovemaking. There was so much that he could not interpret, and so much guesswork involved, Hayago reasoned that his talent was really quite arbitrary. If he could not act on knowledge he acquired, it felt the same as not having it at all.

He climbed the wide, north stairwell of the administrative building two flights up, ignoring clerks and Chunin who greeted him.

It was flimsy. No one vision or group of actions guaranteed he would arrive at the _seen_ outcome. Hayago frequently relayed information to Kyonjin that was acted upon— consequently readjusting future events— and sometimes _created seen results verbatim._ It felt like a fisherman's drag-net in the bay. All the fish in the inlet swimming towards the boat were future outcomes, and as the net, his vision, tightened around those outcomes to _see_ and _interpret,_ some fish stuck. Some slipped through the holes in the net. Some even ate each other before the net was reeled up and inspected. It was indefinite. Illusory. Since he entirely lacked control and true insight, the only bit of it that Hayago trusted was _time._

The "future" that the Mizukage salivated for did not exist. Hayago had not the heart to tell him that the idea of 'a future' arrogantly and incorrectly assumed definite facts of matter beyond the present. He had learned that the only thing that was 'real' was the process by which future events were generated out of present events. _The sight_ was merely refracted particles. It was not the end of the beam of light that passed through the glass of water, bent, traveling as fast as it could to shine on the walls of his house. It was the curve in-between. He tried explaining it to his wife that way. She shrugged and took his word for it.

On the top floor Hayago cleared his head and remembered the last few _sighted_ details he ought to provide to Kyonjin. He knocked once on the door of the Mizukage's office before letting himself inside. The village leader was smoking cigarettes with the windows shut. As usual.

"Hayago. Have you anything to share?" The Mizukage's eyes narrowed on him, smoke curling out from his nostrils.

Hayago approached the desk, eyeballed the organizational calendar, and then tapped his fingers two weeks from the day's date.

"At dawn…our camp in Moji. Terumi Mei will coordinate an ambush with Yuki forces. Jinsong will be there, with all of his retainers. We should be cautious in our response." Hayago relayed what he had _seen,_ "They are making considerable headway jointly."

"I'm sure their new radio communications on the island are helping with that." Kyonjin remarked snidely, still passive-aggressive about the loss of a southern outpost.

"Perhaps. I feel that civil turmoil is slowing our reactions to outside advances." Hayago noted, "The Suikazan clan needs to be unified again. Do you have any intention of punishing Fuguki?"

"He's Samebito's problem." The Mizukage gruffed, "I don't have any objection to their calls for Fuguki's execution. So long as they don't step on the toes in the Sealing Corps, they can do with him as they please."

"Toes will be stepped on. Fuguki will hide behind Sealing Commissioners who still support him. Also, several properties adjacent to the Suikazan castle were damaged or destroyed by fire. Clansmen will also be displaced to other living quarters until inspections and repairs wrap up." Hayago advised, "There are going to be many angry people in the village who will want you to take Fuguki to task."

"And the Sealing Corps will harbor him regardless?"

"He will extort their support if he has to."

"As I said, Samebito is the leader of the Suikazan clan." Kyonjin repeated, "I don't have time for this botheration. He and Kisame will deal with it."

"They will, though not to the extent that collateral victims expect. There will be more unrest." Hayago shut his eyes and prodded for any _particles_ of such events, but detected nothing, "We will be as distracted as ever by Mist's upheaval. Rebels will make bids for most of the south."

Kyonjin finished scrawling a message on a scroll before winding it up and handing it off to Hayago, "Send that to Samebito. We contain this quickly, or not at all. I refuse to turn a blind eye to Terumi and her reprobates."

With a short bow, Hayago left the office without another word. If externalities threatening Hidden Mist took precedence, unchecked internal strife would wreak havoc within the village. Forces and resources were spread so thin that civil unrest was just accepted these days. Hayago was not going to make it worse by informing the Mizukage that he had _seen_ other things over the last few weeks. Such as Kaguya Shon being very much alive and on the run in the countryside. Or that Momochi Zabuza was raising a child. Hayago kept those tidbits deliberately under wraps. That info could easily unhinge the hair-trigger Mizukage.

He trotted down the stairs and exited the building, crossing the street's ice and slush to the winding, stone walkway that led to the aviary and message communication tower. It was another climb up stairs, lined by windows from which he could see the next building over: the Jounin Standby Station. It was the hub of bleary-eyed, caffeinated, over-worked shinobi he oversaw each day.

At the landing of the top floor, Hayago stopped to peer out of a window. In a training courtyard beside the hedges and snow piles of the Jounin Standby Station, he could see his daughter. He smiled to himself.

She was Toyotomi Yūgen, nine years old and the spitting image of her father. Her promotional Chunin evaluation was on Saturday.

Hayago stiffened anxiously at the sight of an adult training partner punching his daughter savagely in the face. When the Chunin trainer pulled his fist away, the girl's head snapped forward again, blood gushing from her broken nose. Undaunted by the injury, the child used her momentum to trip and fling the unbalanced Chunin, and he landed on the ground on his stomach. Yūgen pressed a foot flat between his shoulder blades, pulling back his bloody hand until she wrenched his arm far enough to dislocate it. Hayago could hear the man's howls of pain from the top of the tower.

For a moment he worried about what Yūgen would do to her evaluator on Saturday. Then he stopped worrying. She would exercise restraint. Yūgen had probably reacted that way because _she now had a broken nose._ Usually her counters were polished and stopped short of brutality.

Hayago unlatched an aviary door to affix the scroll to the leg of a messenger hawk, stoic on its perch. _'Her mother won't be pleased…though I hate seeing Yūgen come home banged up too…'_ He thought to himself, _'If her quack instructor doesn't bring her to the clinic after that brawl, maybe I'll drop by with Guo after this. Fix her face up a little…'_

Before Hayago could send off his broad-winged hawk to irk Samebito with the Mizukage's drivel, another bird of prey soared into the tower. It was a stranger. The tawny animal roosted on a long perch suspended from the ceiling, reserved for _inter-village_ communications. The hawk screamed at Hayago to be fed. He obliged and opened a supply cabinet, offering a large, dead rat to the traveler for its trouble. Hayago unclipped the scroll that the Leaf Village hawk had delivered.

He returned to the window to get a glimpse of Yūgen again. Her instructor was moping on a bench, cradling his injured arm while she practiced Water-Style jutsu beside a frosted fountain. Yūgen seemed wholly unaware that the drying swath of blood running down her mouth and chin was scaring passers-by. Hayago sighed. He opened the scroll, noting that it was addressed to the highest officers of the Mist Village or the Mizukage himself.

The calligraphy was impeccable on bright white parchment, detailing the Hyuga clan's collection of intel that discovered Hyuga Himori had been captured and taken alive as a prisoner. The Hyuga clan demanded Himori's whole and safe release to Konohagakure, with possible negotiation terms. Lack of cooperation would result in confrontation. Representatives of the Hyuga clan would be arriving at Ago Bay on the northwest of the island within 24 hours. A response could be sent with the hawk, but of course clansmen intended to be met for an exchange. It was signed by Hyuga Hiashi, his council of elders, as well as high-ranking administrators of Leaf _with_ the Hokage's seal.

Troubled, Hayago rolled up the correspondence, latched the aviary, and took the stairs two at a time on his way down. His daughter's nose would have to wait.

* * *

As the sun rose over Ago Bay the next morning, the chill of winter wind was not to be believed.

Hayago would have preferred having Kamisori in attendance to cut the windsheer for the squadron assembled on a cliff ledge, but the Mizukage had sent him off for reconnaissance work. Because of the delicate nature of this meeting with one of Hidden Leaf's clans, Hayago had advocated for the Mizukage to give him as many of Mist's former swordsmen as were available. Kyonjin had hesitated with the idea before caving and assigning three of them to Hayago's coalition. He had picked up four other dependable shinobi as well to deliver the bad news to the Hyuga clan.

Leaf ninja were spotted in the distance, making their way up the steep dirt and stone-lined path to a limestone plateau. Hayago watched carefully from beside Kisame, who was plainly worn out and unamused by this mission.

"You smell like smoke, kid." The team captain pointed out, "Did you have the chance to bathe since the fire?"

"No. My house partially burned down." He smiled wryly with sharp teeth, "And I was turned away from emergency shelters."

"Come to my home after this. Get cleaned up." Hayago offered.

"I'd accept if not for the fact that most of our clan stinks like this, and I don't think you'd let them come by to rinse off."

"Bisu won't mind." Hayago thought of his wife, who was utterly unprejudiced.

"That's like, fourteen filthy, tired people…"

"I didn't say you could _stay,_ I just said you could wash up."

Kisame warmed to the idea, "I'll tell Dad then."

Hayago turned to the other present once-swordsmen, Zabuza and Higashikuni, "I'm surprised neither of _you_ extended a helping hand to him."

"Let me jump at the chance." Zabuza said dryly, "No."

"Heh," The giant Higashikuni had an entertained smirk on his bearded face, "You don't want to use _my_ bathroom." It was barely fit for human habitation, in terms of hygiene. Zabuza and Kisame already knew that.

Kuina shook her head at her gross Sensei. She wondered what conditions he kept his wife and child in within that house. She turned to regard Utakata, Yagura, and Ganryu beside her as they waited for the Hyuga representatives to crest the hill. When they did, Mist's force tensed. Leaf clansmen had arrived in impressive numbers; nearly a dozen of them.

Who they supposed to be the clan's young leader at the center, Hiashi, broke away to approach Hayago when he stepped ahead of his own team. An uncanny lookalike of Hiashi's stood back in the line of Hyuga but was watching vigilantly.

"You have the successor of the steward line of the Main House, and the Hyuga clan is willing to negotiate for his release." Hiashi added a personal detail, "My young cousin. I will hear your terms."

"I have no terms to give, I'm afraid." Hayago announced with regret, "He is dead."

Hiashi squared his jaw at that remark.

"I cannot give a first-hand account of how he perished, but Yuki Kuina can." Hayago extended his hand to cue the medic-nin to approach. He stepped aside when the kunoichi gave a small bow of acknowledgment.

"We kept Himori for over a week in a high level of care. I arrived at his holding cell one morning and found that he had killed himself." Kuina apologized, "I'm sorry. I looked forward to sending him home. Captivity proved to be—"

"How dare you take a prisoner and express condolences?" Hiashi's tongue was sharp, "You expect me to believe this?"

"I'm telling the truth." Kuina defended, "Hidden Mist kept him alive. The Mizukage wanted to negotiate for a ransom to support our medical funding. We desperately need it."

"He would tell _you_ that." Hiashi supposed shrewdly, "And also that Himori was detained to have his Byakugan studied."

"Yes."

"Did you take it?"

"I didn't—"

"Was the Byakugan _taken_ from him?" Hiashi rephrased it with acerbity.

Kuina tried to keep her voice steady, "Yes."

"Who was it _given_ to?"

Her eyes slipped sidelong to Hayago who remained impassive.

"I cannot tell you that." As Kuina said it, her eyebrows sloped upwards in sadness. Even as she remembered Himori and speaking to him, consoling him, she was under orders not to provide unnecessary detail to Hidden Leaf.

Faster than she could blink, the leader of the Hyuga clan had his hand winched around her throat, thumb pressing against a dangerous pressure point. Hayago had not moved a muscle at the display, although Higashikuni began cursing and Utakata stutter-stepped forward in concern. Hayago gave the young man a sniff to make him fall back into line. Mist would not escalate anything that Leaf instigated; he would make sure of it.

"Who was it given to?" Hiashi repeated.

"I can't—"

Veins became more prominent around the man's gypsum eyes, "You will."

"H-He…" Kuina had moved her fingers up to the hand clamping her neck, eyes tearing, "This is why…he wanted to die."

Hiashi's expression softened with a speck of confusion.

"Why didn't you ask me…if he was hurting? Was he terrified or…tortured?" Her lips trembled, "I was there. He really thought…no one would care about _him_. Worrying about your clan's Blood Limit comes first…"

Soft sounds of disbelief came from clansmen standing behind Hiashi, as if they hardly believed a shinobi from Mist could care about another human being. It had also colored the clan head unfavorably, emphasizing his concern for the Byakugan before a person.

Hiashi withdrew his hand and Kuina rubbed her neck tenderly. She swiped her knuckles under her eyes. This was hard for her too; reliving that painful day.

"That is not how we feel." Hiashi set the record straight, "If he feared our clan's judgement of him more than his detainment by Kirigakure…" He admitted to Kuina, "That is regrettable."

"I wanted him to live." Kuina was honest, "I did everything I could. No." She shook her head, "I could've _done more_ and I think about that every day."

"Your village still stole a secret from Konohagakure and is culpable in his demise." Hiashi reminded her.

"Leaf's team had no business surveilling our main island." Hayago retorted, "That foolish decision is what caused this. He would be alive if not for that order. Hidden Leaf has been warned countless times to stay away from Mist's civil unrest. Now do you understand why we demand that?"

Hiashi's mouth was a thin line as he regarded Hayago. The raggedy Mist captain had a point.

Silence was cleaved apart by howling sea wind, and when it died down, Utakata directed a large bubble containing a body forward. Two Branch members approached to accept Himori's body when it was released from the _Shabondama_ technique. Hiashi was still deliberating on how to react.

The clan head's twin came forward and spoke softly to him, "Both of Hidden Mist's jinchuriki are here. This is no time or place to consider aggression."

Hiashi processed that quickly enough to signal his group to fall back. He glanced at Utakata and Yagura curiously before he gave Kuina a parting word, "We will not forget this."

As the Hyuga clan returned the way they had come via the jagged footpath, Himori recovered, Kuina sucked in a breath. Hayago corralled her back toward Higashikuni who grumbled about her safety and also a job well done. But Kuina wasn't listening. She wondered if the clan head meant that Leaf would exact revenge someday for this theft, or if he meant he would remember her genuine grief and understanding.

The sun warmed their backs as they turned toward Kirigakure.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is dedicated to winteralley, a talented writer in my thoughts.
> 
> Ring the bells that still can ring.  
> Forget your perfect offering.  
> There is a crack,  
> A crack in everything.  
> That's how the light gets in.  
>  —from Leonard Cohen's Anthem


	14. Imaginary

At first, the whining, barking sounds carrying over the hill were what intrigued Kimimaro. When he arrived at the top to look down upon the pebbled beach, his eyes widened. Strange, round-trunked, legless animals lazed about.

He stared down at the peculiar creatures as the waves lapped at the shore, the winter cold made fearsome by ocean winds. He had never seen the sea before. He had been told of it, and listened to the stories told by his elders and caretakers. Now it was a physical fact— a thing he had witnessed. As real as the land and sky.

Shon scaled the rocky hill to join Kimimaro, “I see that you’ve discovered harbor seals. You probably heard them first.”

“…harbor seal.” Kimimaro repeated the animal’s moniker.

“Yes. Living among the Kaguya’s woodland home all of your life, you’ve never seen the beasts that dwell in water.” The man was re-buttoning a coat button that had come undone, “Seals are mammals, warm-blooded like squirrels, rabbits, and dogs are. Just as human beings are.”

“They have no legs.” Kimimaro hopped off of an eroded boulder to follow Shon along a coastal path.

“Not all mammals have legs. Legs are impractical limbs in the ocean.”

“Seals would be slow on land. They whine like old people.”

Shon chuckled, “Ah, it does sound like that…you’re right. They aren’t dangerous. Their pelts are lovely.”

“What is this place?” Kimimaro wondered.

“The western edge of the main island; where Kirigakure sits at its center encompassed by forests.” Shon explained as they trekked, “This region is  _Noboribetsu,_ so named for its muddy, colorful rivers. Minerals from the hot springs in the hills flow through streams and empty into this bay.” He stopped to gaze out at the vast blue, “Enterprising souls come here to build and operate wonderful  _onsen ryokan,_ but business, as I understand it, has declined. Danger has been lurking.”

Kimimaro did not require any further explanation beyond the term  _danger._ He assumed shinobi had something to do with it. The area seemed remote and disconnected from all else on the island. It was a place to go unseen.

As they pushed further inland, away from the shrill wind and crash of waves, small snow drifts became taller and more plentiful. A storm had furbished the rocky landscape with white mounds, and gnarled, leaf-less trees grew twisted and sideways. Shon strolled over the thin boughs with grace, challenging Kimimaro to follow him in a similar fashion. While they traveled, the man wanted the boy to use skills without thinking. Up a slight incline in the land, sparse bunches of pine provided shelter. They stopped in a limestone alcove to eat boxed lunches.

Shon watched Kimimaro thoughtfully as they ate.

“I should teach you how to fish and catch game. You’ve seen how I cook things already.” Shon tipped his head up and thought as he chewed, “I should also teach you how to buy and sell things. How to use good manners. We don’t want you seeming suspicious around common folk and salespeople now, don’t we?”

“That won’t be hard.” Kimimaro was unenthusiastic about such a basic lesson.

“If you are in hostile territory, it will be.” Shon flicked a strand of Kimimaro’s hair, “Our coloring is noticeable. Some people may recognize us as clan-bred ninja. You won’t get any help or cooperation if such a person is intolerant of those with Kekkei Genkai. That is common here.”

Kimimaro only looked at the man with his head cocked. This was news to him. Would people they met on the road really hate them for no other reason than that?

“They probably did not tell you much about other islanders back at our clan homestead.” The man took a sip of dry wine from an uncorked bottle, then went on, “War has made many fearful. Common people, ninja; those with Kekkei Genkai and without… All are suspicious of what they consider  _other._ Often there is no reasoning with such people. It is better to avoid them, when you can. Or disguise yourself with a Transformation, to appear more  _like them_ and blend in.”

“Are we going to a place where there will be people like that?” Kimimaro asked.

“No. There will be understanding types at  _the Loft._ ”

“Then I don’t care.” The boy took another bite of fish, “I see no reason to pretend.”

Shon smiled softly, “Someday, you will. As you grow older and survive in these lands, you will inevitably encounter others and anticipate how they will react to you. That is simply a part of having good sense. What use is there in only learning ninja skills…if you don’t know how to do anything else?”

Kimimaro nodded at that as he finished eating. He saw the utility in such a skill. He did suspect that understanding people would be far more difficult than learning jutsu.

After the break, they continued on up the cold slopes past heated vents that puffed steam that welled up from an underground source.

“We’ll be getting close to some hot springs soon.” Shon noted.

On a plateau, the man motioned for Kimimaro to stop. He pointed out a pine cone still attached to the limb of a tree.

“Can you knock that down from here?” Shon asked him.

Ah, another test. Kimimaro began to condense a bone knife from his ulna, but before he could push it out from beneath his skin Shon patted him and shook his head.

“No, no. You don’t need to expend nearly so much matter to hit that target.” Shon corrected him, holding up his hand in front of the boy’s face, “Look here. Even a finger produces enough bone for us to use. Do as I do.”

Kimimaro watched as Shon slowly pushed a pellet of bone out of his finger tip. For emphasis, he turned and shot a hole through soft stone at the edge of the path with a bone bullet.

“You can do this as well. Channel your energy into a point here,” Shon indicated Kimimaro’s finger as he lifted his hand, “It will feel much the same as it does when we produce larger objects from our bodies. Restrain it a bit to build force, and then aim. You can release it after you build pressure and fire it at will.” He stood straighter and rested a hand on his hip, “Go on, then.”

For a time, Kimimaro only succeeded in pushing small chips and bone pellets from the tips of his fingers. They clattered to the ground. The boy frowned and squinted at his hands, trying to get a feel for it. Shon demonstrated for him again. They made no progress along the path as Kimimaro struggled to get a grasp of the feeling and focus needed to make a small projectile. When he finally  _did_ make something useable, Kimimaro was only able to shoot it a meter, and it only made a shallow indent in the soil.

“You’ll learn to build more pressure.” Shon said as he set out on the trail again, “And when you do, you’ll be able to apply the same principle to other bones in your body. Where they exit and how fast they exit.” They moved on without Kimimaro ever attempting to hit the target in the pine tree.

The day wore on and they began their descent into a windless valley, filled with warm vapor that drifted up from pools and vents. Shon frowned and twitched his nose. Kimimaro glanced up at the man beside him and tried to decipher what his expressions meant. Shon slowed their pace and stepped carefully into the cloudy blind ahead, where the path was obscured by steam. Kimimaro realized they were not alone. More than one presence was lingering in the warm haze.

Beside the edge of a hot spring, Shon halted and Kimimaro stilled at his side. Men and women were soaking in the  _onsen,_ and outside of the pool were others affiliated with them, dressed and armed. Kimimaro’s trained eye knew that all assembled were shinobi. They also had their defenses lowered, in spite of a stranger wandering past. Close by, a woman with long red hair was seated on the flat surface of a stone, boiling water for tea on a makeshift kettle above glowing lava rocks. She was amused and smirking at Shon. To cut the awkwardness, Shon crossed over to the woman and Kimimaro tagged along.

“When was the last time I saw you? And never so far from the heartlands…” She chuckled and added tea leaves to a cup, “Why is that child with you, Shon?”

“He is a ward and a student of mine.” Shon told the woman, “He is called Kimimaro.”

She craned her neck to look around Shon and get a glimpse of the boy, “Oh. Still so young… Well hello there, Kimimaro. I am Terumi Mei.”

The boy only nodded in greeting. He was not accustomed to formal introductions.

“My rebel group will use Noboribetsu as a rendezvous point with the lord of the Yuki clan.” Mei explained, “It’s comfortable here and Mist patrols never come this far west. Not anymore.”

“A fine place to settle.” Shon agreed.

“Why not join us?” Mei smiled again, “That would be safer than traveling alone, no?”

“We intend to avoid any further skirmishes with Hidden Mist. At least until Kimimaro has learned more.” Shon crossed his arms and enclosed his hands into deep sleeves, “I appreciate your offer, Mei. When the time is right we will aid you in your cause.”

“At least you have the courtesy to tell me that.” She snickered, “Your friend Kamisori was very impolite when I asked him the same thing.”

“He hasn’t been taught any better.” Shon wagered.

“Hmm. Kamisori is not the straightforward type; I cannot tell where his loyalty lies. He was accompanied by Captain Toyotomi Hayago and the Six-Tails, Utakata. And I imagine none of them have any profound love for the Mizukage…but they were not willing to defect and risk those close to them in Mist.” Mei poured water over her tea leaves, “Perhaps if their precious ones joined with us, or were outside of Kirigakure…they would entertain the idea of rebelling?”

“I don’t see why not. They’re sensible men.”

“Then do try to persuade them, if you have the chance.” She lifted her cup to her lips, “The power they wielded just to get away from me…could have caused great pains to Kyonjin, if they elected to defy him.”

Before Shon could comment on the matter, he reached out abruptly to halt a hand that was hovering above Kimimaro’s head. A man had snuck up behind them, grinning predatorily at the child.

“What? This yours?” The man taunted.

Shon’s eyes were narrowed, “No. And not yours either.”

Kimimaro blinked impassively at the interactions. He had no concept of what the creeping stranger may have intended.

Mei inclined her chin authoritatively at her subordinate, “Inejiro. Do not cause any strife while we wait here for Lord Jinsong. The Yuki clan expects you to comport yourself well while you coordinate this rebellion.”

“Last I checked  _you_ call all of the shots.” Inejiro sneered at the female leader.

“Have a seat.” Mei said.

“Psh.” The over-dressed, simpering member of the Yuki clan circled around Shon, “What’s this cuck doing, crawling up to us for help? You’ve always been useless, Shon. A daydreaming coward. The rebellion doesn’t need a babysitter or stoner. Take your resume elsewhere.”

“To tell the truth, I am only passing through.” Shon decided to be pleasant. He would be no worse off after parting amicably from Mei’s rebels.

“Inejiro.” Mei’s tone was clipped, “Wait for any correspondence from Kahyō at the ridge. You’ve soaked in the springs long enough for today.”

The man angrily gruffed at the order, but then departed into the haze.

Shon raised his eyebrows, “Kahyō will be here?”

“She and Rahyō are the Yuki clan’s strongest ninja, apart from their leader. I was told they would be scouting ahead to be sure this area is unspoiled.” Mei motioned to inquire if Shon wanted any tea, which he declined, “Jinsong-sama and I have only met once before, so trust is not well established between us. I see no reason to be offended by his emissaries arriving first.”

“No one can be too cautious in these uncertain times.” Shon agreed, “Stay well, Mei. We’ll be on our way now.”

Mei gave a final, parting smile to Kimimaro, as if she understood his plight and position in the world, “Take care.”

Kimimaro was astounded that there was no fuss about their parting, and no followers tailed them through the valley of vents and springs. Shon led the way out of Noboribetsu down a southwestern trail covered by thick conifers. To stop Kimimaro from repeatedly looking back over his shoulder, Shon patted his head.

“Do not fret. They are much like us.” He explained, “We have nothing to fear from them.”

“Do they have Kekkei Genkai?” Kimimaro asked.

“Most of them do. Some don’t.” Shon told him, “The point is that they all work together in the hope that the Mist Village can be a home to everyone. Irrespective of class, rank, or blood lines…”

“Is that what we want?”

Shon gave the boy a bemused look, “What  _we_ want?”

“Yes.”

“Only you can decide what you want.” Shon said as he rustled around his coat pocket.

The boy admitted, “…I don’t know yet.”

“You don’t need to know right away. Give it time and think it over.” Shon suggested. He lit a cigarette that he’d perched between his teeth.

They followed the quiet, lonely forest path as Shon smoked. Kimimaro noticed several deer tucked under the boughs of green needles, nipping at tree bark. His eyes trolled up and then focused on a pine cone hanging at the end of a tall branch.

The boy reached out his hand and shot it down.

* * *

Kuina stood outside of the hallway window, staring into a room where she saw potential physicians and medic-nin taking their boards. Guo was inside proctoring the exam with a solemn expression. He’d told her earlier that he expected most if not all of the students to fail. Previous scores and records indicated that this batch were not quite up to the standards they needed in the Medical Corps. Another exam would be held next week for a second group of hopefuls.

She continued down the hospital corridor to check charts and schedules. Kuina also recalled that Guo had warned her in preparation of potentially crossing paths with Jokichi, “He was very angry when I spoke to him last. Jokichi claimed that you told the Mizukage about things he wanted you to keep confidential.”

Kuina admitted to it, with an obvious pinch of regret. Though she’d secured her position, it had been at the expense of her friendship with a mentor.  _‘What will Higa-sensei think when he finds out that I ratted on his best friend?’_ She sighed to herself and supposed her Sensei would not care very much. It would be  _their_ business and he had no part in it.

Guo had graciously chosen not to judge her for the move. He said he tried to put himself in her place, in an effort to understand if he would’ve done things differently, “Probably not.” 

In the lobby, her eyes scanned over the names of many Suikazan clan members who were still being treated, per patient records. Since a fire had broken out in the clan’s castle, many had suffered from burns, smoke inhalation, injuries during evacuation, and even wounds from fighting one another. She only vaguely knew of the culprit: the wide, shark-faced brute named Fuguki.  _‘Higa-sensei said that he was a former swordsman…and that he was rather unpopular. That he was cowardly and deceitful…and he would find ways to hide behind others.’_

She took a breath and pushed it out of her mind. She could hardly wrap her head around the intrigue. Only days out from her squadron’s encounter with the Hyuga clan, Kuina’s nerves had not quite settled. Kuina initialed some documents and signed off for her shift, making small talk with So-Eun at the front desk.

“I know you’re tired and want to go home, but on the way you should check out the Diwali celebration.” The young woman recommended, “It’s just up the street.”

“The what?”

“You know, the folks in the Hindu quarter have that festival every winter.” So-Eun reminded her.

“Oh yeah…” She thought on it and recalled lights, sparklers, dances and other public displays sanctioned by Mist’s ‘progressive’ administration, “I’ve seen it. A lot of people go to that, right?”

“I think it’s for the sweets. They’re  _good._ ” So-Eun looked hungry.

“Someone can’t wait to get off her shift.” Kuina teased. She bid her friend farewell before leaving, squinting as she strode into the late-morning sunshine outside of the building. 

She yawned and slapped her cheeks to perk up after the night shift, as the road home was long. Kuina passed through the stalls, lanterns, festoons, and  _puja_ with candles and flower offerings at their bases, fascinated by those praying and joining together joyfully. It looked as though donations were being taken for the Suikazan clan and those whose homes near the castle had sustained fire damage. Kuina was moved by such a gesture as villagers lined up to contribute.

“Hey, Kuina!”

She turned around and noticed she had marched past Rama, her young Jounin friend who had made a name for himself over the last year. A young man who looked remarkably like Rama stood beside him. Their foreheads were marked by a vertical design made with red powder. When Rama noticed her staring at it, he pointed it out, “It’s a  _tilaka_. You like it? We can give you one.”

Kuina was surprised, “Is that allowed? I’m not very religious.”

“Pft! You can be Hindu for a day.” He joked and then turned to the boy beside him, “By the way, this here is my brother, Laksmana.”

Laksmana bowed with a kind smile, “Big brother has told me a lot about you, Kuina-san.”

“It’s very nice to meet you.” She returned the gesture, “I’m sorry, I just got off of a shift at the hospital so I’m a little out of it.”

“That’s okay. Tomorrow is the fourth day of our celebration, so you can come back tomorrow and join us for our feasts if you want.” Rama offered, “Anyway, I am a bit preoccupied at the moment. Laksmana is trying to be a good wing-man for me and get a pretty lady’s attention. See her over there?”

The three of them peeked around a food stand and across the street to where a young woman was creating a  _rangoli_ out of colored sand. Kuina had never seen black hair that shined so, or eyes that sported such fluffy lashes. If she had to guess, she was laying eyes on the most beautiful woman in all of Kirigakure. The young lady also appeared to be cracking jokes at children and blowing raspberries at them.

“I think I’m in love with her.” Rama admitted, “She sold me some  _nikuman_  for lunch yesterday.”

“You mean you just met her yesterday?” Kuina confirmed.

Rama nodded as his brother sighed in exasperation.

“Do you even know her name?” Kuina asked.

“She said her name was Sita.” Rama could not peel his eyes away.

“Well,” Kuina clapped Laksmana’s shoulder, “Good luck, wing-man. He’s going to need some help securing a date, I think.”

“I think so too.” The boy chuckled.

Rama snipped at his friend to not doubt his romantic capabilities before she carried on. The smells of the festival were appetizing, but Kuina desperately needed sleep. She passed the main street, through the outer road of the village, then beyond the border. Snowflakes drifted down intermittently as Kuina navigated her way through the local forests, pressing deeper into the wilderness of the island.

Sometimes, she wondered if she could talk Kamisori into buying a home within the village. Kuina understood the value of privacy and having space away from Mist, but it made her profession excruciating at times. She had underestimated the commute when they had first made their home in the treetop loft. Deep down, Kuina had an inkling that he wouldn’t budge on the matter. Kamisori would want to stay where he was. 

In that same vein, it made her ponder if there would ever be anything he could compromise on. If one day they did not so readily agree on something, Kuina suspected that she would bend in the wind of his demands. Most everything that had changed in their lives had been the adjustments she agreed to.

The redwoods loomed like towers all around, and Kuina wandered in her thoughts as she automatically sought the way home. She heard the low call of the ptarmigan named Debumaru on the roof, and then leapt up to the surrounding porch. All was still and silent in the house when she entered.  _‘…right. Kamisori’s mission might last another day or more…’_ She had some time off, until then. If he came home earlier, they could loaf around together. Once inside the house, she settled into her routine.

Kuina nearly dozed off in a bath, but managed to clean up and drain the tub with bleary vision. She dried off and crossed the corridor to her bedroom, not bothering with pajamas before she burrowed beneath the covers of the bed.

As she slept, she dreamt of the festival she had briefly visited. The peace and happiness there was a temporary state in Hidden Mist, like the flash of sparklers and firecrackers that children played with. She could see Rama and Laksmana with their brown skin suddenly tinted a pale blue, an otherworldly beauty about them, and the laughing girl named Sita bathed in a halo of light across the street. They felt virtuous and true. 

And when she searched for Kamisori in her dream, he was cast in sharp relief, the illuminated parts of him contrasted in shadows as he stood beside her. When she reached for his face, caressing his cheek with her fingertips; he felt so good, so warm. The way he wrapped his arms around her happily and kissed her deeply— it made her heart race.

Then she felt her flesh turn stiff and solid like ice, and where he touched and kissed her she began to crack. Kuina shed parts of her chilled body as she recoiled in shock, freezing, gasping for air. Kamisori looked apologetic and helpless when she fell back and away from him.

Kuina’s eyes snapped open and she yelped in terror. She sunk her fingers into the pillow beneath her head. It was dark outside the bedroom window. While she had slept the day away, night had fallen. The house was gripped with winter’s bite.

Slowly, Kuina pushed up from the bed and toddled to the closet, slipping on pajamas and a robe. She scurried through the house to build a fire in the hearth, and then found something simple to eat. Her empty stomach was whining and her whole body ached. 

She remembered her dream.  _‘I miss him.’_ Kuina thought somberly,  _‘When Kamisori isn’t here…this place is almost scary. It’s huge and friendless. Cold.’_ She blinked and had an idea as she pulled pre-made rice balls and soup from the refrigerator.

Kuina fetched a bag of seed from a cabinet and then opened the front door, laying a handful of feed on the porch. She clucked for Debumaru who faithfully fluttered down from the roof.

“Debumaru, hey, chubby boy…” She called to him sweetly, “Do you want to come in?”

The bird glanced up at her vacantly before he continued pecking at the meal.

“I’m a bit lonely tonight. Come in if you want to sit by the fire with me.” Kuina offered.

She stood at the open door for a time, and gave up when the bird paid her no heed. Kuina shut the door and went to the stove to heat the soup. A single lamp lit in the sitting area cast long shadows in the house. Kuina chewed tiredly on a rice ball and noted an uneasy, gnawing sensation in her chest. Maybe it was the stress of missions lately, or work at the hospital? Maybe it was because she missed the friendships she had easily maintained when she lived within the Mist Village? She heard scratching at the door.

Curious, Kuina slid the screen aside and allowed Debumaru to bobble in. He’d had his fill of seed. She shut the door and was confounded when the bird sat beside her feet. Since she had arrived at the loft, she had not interacted much with the Yuki clan’s summon animal. Kuina bent down to stroke the ptarmigan’s plush feathers. Debumaru blinked slowly, pleased.

“Do you mind if I…?” Kuina gently picked the bird up and tucked him against her chest. He was a placid animal. Debumaru did not protest at all as she walked around the kitchen with him. She ate her soup and rice balls with a bird nestled in her lap. The company made it a much less lonely affair.

And though she wasn’t sure if Kamisori would object to it, she brought the bird back to bed to roost beside her pillow for the night.

* * *

At dawn, Debumaru made no noise as he slipped away and exited the house through an exhaust duct in the kitchen. He returned to the roof of the house to keep watch.

Kuina woke some hours later. The solitude of last night persisted, less dense than it had been in the dark. She considered dressing and spending the day in Kirigakure to keep busy somehow.  _‘Rama did invite me back to that festival…’_ She crept out of bed to use the restroom and brush her teeth. Kuina wandered around while she foamed at the mouth, peering into rooms along the hallway.  _‘Or I could stay in and clean…yikes. All this dust! It’s been ages since we gave this place a proper scrubbing.’_ At least two weeks of housework had been neglected due to assignments.

She finished brushing and rinsed at the sink, concluding that she would clean up and decide what to do with the day after that. Sunshine poured in from every window of the house, lending some energy to Kuina. She had tea with jam on crackers, set seed out for Debumaru again on the porch, then donned a face mask and gloves. 

Kuina made quick work of the kitchen and living areas, then toiled for the rest of the morning in each room off of the corridor. Rugs were hung on tree limbs and beaten, tatami mats and futons aired out; linens tumbled, floors swept, surfaces dusted, and an investigation ensued when a cache of acorns was discovered in a cracked baseboard within the first guest room. One sleeping squirrel was evicted by noon, and the nuts were politely relocated to a tree nook with respect for the creature’s winter welfare. Kuina searched for a hammer and nails, and forgave herself for the shoddy job of sealing up the squirrel’s former hideaway.

In the study beside the bathroom, Kuina dusted a case of books before spotting the start of a trail of mold near its top. Moisture had accumulated at the ceiling and affected the topmost volumes. She salvaged what she could, treated the area with alcohol, dried it out, and reordered everything. Kuina sat on the wood floor and caught her breath, “I need a housekeeper…” Or, as the afterthought occurred to her, she just needed a husband to tackle these chores with. She snapped the gloves off of her hands. She eased down to be flat on her back and stared up at the beams of the study’s ceiling.

 _‘I’ll start thinking about him again, and how far away he feels.’_ Kuina ran her hands through her hair, nails coasting over her scalp,  _‘I guess Kamisori does work in this office sometimes…he might write reports…he didn’t say.’_ Scratch that, she thought. He didn’t tell her much about anything that went on in his life. So far she had only been entitled to fragments of his past and present. For her part, Kuina had hidden nothing from Kamisori, not even her family’s secret.

She laid lethargically and scanned the writing desk and book shelf. There were many technical books, some of which seemed to be of no interest to her husband, but had been acquired second-hand. Some of the novels looked interesting near the center of the case. Kuina sat up to read the spines. She plucked out  _The Water Margin_ and then settled at the desk, interested in letting her mind recover with a good story. An undignified grunt escaped her as she knocked her knee into something…a large, walnut box. Kuina slipped her seat back and bent down, sliding the box out from behind the desk.

“It’s a  _karakuri_  box…” Kuina sat beside it on the floor and ran her hands over it. Childlike wonder overcame her. She had not seen a puzzle box since she was a small girl, going door to door in the fishing village to pester neighbors. It was a stumper. For at least twenty minutes, she prodded and pushed, seeking any give in the first movement of the puzzle. She left the study to put away cleaning supplies and eat lunch. Afterward, she returned with renewed determination.

It was beautifully decorated with a checker and blossom pattern. Kuina had half a mind to find and collect more like it, but froze as she felt a thin, disguised panel slip to the right. She remembered the purpose of such an innocuous thing.

 _‘These are for hiding things in plain sight.’_ She felt her hands get clammy at the thought of it. Certainly Kamisori did not  _share_ much, but he had no reason to actively  _hide_  anything. At least she dearly hoped not. She pushed the panel back to its original position and decided to mind her own business. Leaving the box where it sat, Kuina snatched up her novel and left the room.

Skirting around the sectional by the  _irori,_ Kuina arrived at a lone, upholstered chair near the window and clambered into it. The sound of winter geese calling out in the sky above warded off her doubt.

The book snapped shut in her hands after only two pages. 

No. She wasn’t imagining things. The worrisome pinpricks all along her body that nagged her; the questions that had long gone unanswered… Kuina had to acknowledge that society at large continually told her that things weren’t wrong when they  _seemed wrong,_ and when things felt fine that something  _terrible_ was afoot. She returned to the study with the goal of laying her fears to rest, of proving how she was being a silly, paranoid spouse.

In one easy motion, she worked the first panel loose. Problem-solving and intuition helped Kuina uncover the next panel, but the final motion required for the three-move puzzle eluded her. She sat and wondered if Kamisori would wander in and catch her in such a questionable act. But he wouldn’t be home for another day or so. And this was merely a decorative box that served a dual purpose. That was all. She’d make sure of it. It felt light in her hands, as if nothing was inside.

Taking calming breaths, she worked and tested. She moved the box to the sitting room so she could get more comfortable. Nearly an hour elapsed before she found the correct shimmying motion on both of the sides she had unlocked, and then Kuina slid the lid free. Inside was a stack of parchment, a small scroll, and a thin, leather bound journal. She wanted to reserve judgment on what any of these items could mean, but her imagination ran rampant. Kuina retreated to the study again to examine the contents of the box.

The journal came first, and Kuina held her breath when she cracked it open, fearing some sort of log of a serial killer or worse. Instead, the calligraphy was neat and feminine. A yellowing, family photo was affixed to the cover by an elastic band. Upon inspection, Kuina realized that the small boy in the photo, pale like the mother figure standing behind him, must have been Kamisori. His dark-haired father was handsome and had an amused expression, and held the hand of an older daughter. The date and names in the shot were written on the back of the photograph. The same names Kamisori had shared with her.  _‘So he told me the truth about his family…’_ Okimo, his sister, had been writing entries in the journal. The text indicated she was a young teenager at the start of it.

  _I disappoint. I want to keep my father cheerful. I have pushed myself to learn the jutsu that my little brother has already mastered. In-between my father’s lessons, I ask for tutoring with Lady Miyakodori. She understands how desperate I am. Since mother passed away, I need to take greater responsibility for my family. The Yuki clan will take part in an ambush on Mist Village forces within a fortnight. I cannot be a novice when that time comes._

Kuina turned the page to a follow-up entry.

_I was able to use the jutsu that Miyakodori-sama showed me. I was unable to kill a single enemy, however. My father saved me when I was overwhelmed by a Suikazan ninja, and Kahyō ordered our platoon’s retreat. I am ashamed that father suggested that Kamisori leave his cover in Kirigakure to aid rebel efforts. He has begun training under the swordsman, Kuriarare Kushimaru. I begged father not to trouble my brother or risk his safety in Hidden Mist. While with the Seven Swordsmen, he is divorced from these petty squabbles in the countryside._

Kuina sat back against a wall of the office and blinked hard, as if to confirm she had not misread anything. Kamisori had been an apprentice of swordsman, or in the likelier case,  _had been one_ for a time before she met him. She read on.

_Father has demanded that I stay away from Inejiro-kun. He refused to hear anything I had to say! While at home, Inejiro is the only person who doesn’t speak to me as if I’m weak and useless. I always want to be around him. If my father cannot accept that, then I will continue seeing him in secret._

Several pages later, despondent scribble:

_Father is dead. One of our squadrons was lured into a coral-palm trap, killing everyone who entered it. I pray that Kahyō and Inejiro return. We’ve gone two days without a report from any members of our second squad. Jinsong-sama vowed that the Yuki clan will take time to recover and avoid fighting until winter arrives. Why, God, did you not make me a competent shinobi? No matter how hard I train, there are small children who have better control over the Hyōton than I. Please, give me strength. If you cannot give me that, then I beg that you spare my family and precious clan. They are forgetting easy sleep and laughter._

Another page.

_Today, Kamisori snuck home. He said he wanted to see me and lay our father to rest. My brother is covered in bruises and puncture marks! I demanded to know what’s happened to him. He simply won’t explain. He says that training is difficult. He and his master take many missions, sometimes with other swordsmen, and sometimes on their own. I asked him if his master hurt him, and Kamisori denied it. I will speak about it with Miyakodori-sama, later._

And another…

_Kamisori has been lying to me. He lies about everything! Inejiro told me that my brother resents me. He only acts in my presence to prevent me from throwing a fit. I can hardly believe he’s changed this much. He’s skilled. He’s more violent. When he comes home to visit and sits beside me in the garden, I flinch. I don’t want to fear my brother. He’s all that I have. He, and Inejiro._

_It’s been months since I last saw my brother. I worry that he is in danger while he stays in Kirigakure. I do not trust his master, who I am convinced harms him for the thrill of it. Inejiro wondered if Kamisori is upset with me, but I explained that he and I parted on good terms before he left the estate. I wonder, why is Inejiro so worried about what my brother thinks of me? Kamisori would never hurt me. Inejiro asked me to stay close. I spend my nights with him now._

Kuina flipped the page.

_I asked Inejiro if he would consider getting married. I don’t want to remain lovers and risk the disapproval of Miyakodori-sama and other elders concerned about my honor. Inejiro promised to give me his answer when he returns from his mission. In the meantime, I will write to my brother to see if he is well. Rahyō feared that he may be abusing substances, based on their last meeting in the field. If there is anything I can do for Kamisori, I will run to him at a moment’s notice._

_Everyone knows. Not just my elders, but our cousins and my friends, and most everyone at the estate. Hyorin told me that she has been with Inejiro for years. How had I not noticed? While I was worried about Kamisori’s fibbing and evasion, Inejiro had been the better liar all along. I won’t be taken for a fool. I won’t be ridiculed by my clan. I am not loose or unclean. Word of this mustn’t reach my brother._

Worriedly, Kuina turned over to the next entry.

_When I confronted Inejiro, he tried to kill me at the back of the property. I didn’t want to be wounded any worse, so I let him have his way with me. He said that if I screamed or told anyone, that he would kill Kamisori, Hyorin, and Miyakodori-sama. But I must. I have to tell Jinsong-sama! He would never let anyone make threats like these. I wish my father were here. I wish I had never believed Inejiro when he said that I was wrong, or that I was overreacting to things. This feeling could not be further from love._

_Kamisori returned home very ill. Rahyō says we must watch him closely until the withdrawal passes. Late one evening, I caught Inejiro cutting my brother while he was too weak to move. I made him promise not to hurt him. Maybe one of these nights, if Inejiro falls asleep beside me again, I can slice his neck to the bone._

_I tried. He overwhelmed me and stabbed me many times, the night before last. Kahyō found me bloodied and soaking my futon, too winded to scream. Inejiro told Jinsong-sama that I was plotting to kill him. Jinsong-sama and Miyakodori-sama believed him. Kahyō tended to my wounds and is watching over me now. She says that my brother is doing better, and that Kamisori is protesting my imprisonment. I know that he knows the truth._

Kuina sucked in a withering breath as she read on.

_I am a disgrace. When I tried to explain myself to the lord and lady of my clan, Inejiro denied everything. They also told me that Hyorin retracted all of her accusations against Inejiro, and I have no idea why she would do that. She has suffered too! He must have threatened her. Why won’t anyone listen? I can’t bear it anymore. Before dawn tomorrow, I will leave this place. I spoke with my brother late into the night. I told him to never let his master hurt him again— to cut him down no matter the consequences. Kamisori asked me if I wanted him to kill Inejiro, but I couldn’t stand it if he came to any harm or was ostracized as I am._

_Mother was so beautiful. I’ve been looking at her portrait. Her eyes were green like jewels. Her hair was white silk, like Kamisori’s. Such beautiful white. Touched by snow. I will leave everything behind. All of my possessions and mementos, all that belonged to dear mother and father. I leave it to my brother. He is stronger now, and can lead a free life. I am tired of injustice and indifference. I forsake everything of mine and my belonging to the Yuki clan. Tomorrow, I will be only Okimo._

Astonished, Kuina turned the journal over in her hands and made sure nothing else had been written in the remaining pages. That was all there was. After that, Okimo had departed from the Yuki clan, and Kamisori had never seen or heard from his sister since, he’d said.

Not only had she agonized over her own entrapment and suffering, but Okimo had feared that Kamisori’s apprenticeship to a swordsman was causing him great harm. Kuina was less surprised that Kamisori had not discussed that part of his life with her. If he had been hurting then, he wasn’t likely to conjure up those memories and relate them to her. She set the journal down and reached into the box for the stack of parchment. Quite a variety of documents had been squirreled away.

Legal woes and bounty posters, falsified records, maps marked in ink that revealed strategic locations (for whose purpose she wasn’t sure), and sensitive information about Kirigakure’s Sealing Corps. That gave Kuina pause. She had been rather comfortable when Kamisori revealed to her that he was a  _double-agent_ , feeding information to Hidden Mist and the Yuki clan via two-way reports. But the sway of the documents in her hand suggested that Kamisori was much more devoted to delivering Hidden Mist’s secrets to his clan. She put away the papers and journal before drawing out the scroll within the box. She unrolled it to read a communique from the leader of the Yuki clan, Lord Jinsong, dated much earlier that year.

_Kamisori, understand that our window of opportunity is fast closing. Rebel forces require more information about Kirigakure’s current jinchuriki, and the Sealing Commissioners who oversee them. Our intelligence lines within the village have been severed, and in order for you to accumulate the information I am requesting, you have my permission to use whatever cover you deem necessary to gain trust and prolong your stay in Mist. Join the Sealing Corps if they will have you as an inductee, or get as close as possible to Kyonjin’s advisors and favored ninja. If you marry, no information regarding the Yuki clan may be shared. With the conclusion of your reconnaissance, you are welcome to choose a real bride in the Yuki clan upon your return._

_I expect a response within a month’s time._

Kuina tossed the offending scroll, unwound, into the box. She didn’t bother sealing it or putting it back where she found it. Wobbling, she rose up to stand and leave the study.

For a while, she’d been convinced. Maybe in the way that Okimo had once been convinced of her partner’s faithfulness; Kuina realized she could relate. Now, she had journeyed past the overlap of convenience and desire in the Venn-diagram of her relationship, and ended up in foul, hostile territory. She was a human shield. An excuse to stay in Kirigakure. A friendly face that would diffuse the Mizukage’s suspicion.

Kuina debated what her next course of action ought to be as she stood in the kitchen listlessly. If she had anything of consequence at the moment, she might’ve hand-delivered it to the Mizukage. She could take what she wanted and burn the house down— burn the entire forest down. She could wait patiently for Kamisori to return home, and then disembowel him while he laid prone and defenseless beneath her in bed. There were options.

Instead, she assembled an assortment of vegetables onto a cutting board and began chopping them. Kuina tumbled through her thoughts. What had she expected from such a fast and intense courtship? An authentic marriage? She had been too liberal with the personal information she shared with Kamisori. Many foggy aspects of their life together became transparently clear, now that Kuina was aware of the sham. Her proximity to friends and trustworthy Mist ninja had been reduced. His anti-social tendencies were explainable. The lack of answers to her questions... Kuina gathered the diced vegetables into neat piles— the way she would rearrange and make sense of her life if she could.

Curiously, she did not feel any less love for the man she married. That part of him was real, unless he’d be so kind as to debunk that belief as well. Yet Kuina could not stomach how she was, above all other things, a convenience. Anguish curdled her stomach and all of the hair on her body stood on end. The electric disbelief that quickened her nerves and thoughts halted any attempt to draw conclusions or weep. It felt like an unending circuit of amazement and humiliation, separating like layers of oil and then recombining. Such disgusting, raw emotions had entombed the love that hadn’t budged. Kuina could only focus on the act of cooking, lest she ransack everything she could touch or verbally affect with whirlwind irrationality.

She purposefully calmed down so that she could fillet a fish with caution. She let it roast in an oven and then stared out of the window above the sink. There was nothing but an endless wall of trees mottled in white. Kuina went outside to collect dry firewood, and ignored Debumaru as the curkling ptarmigan followed her around.

Only for a moment did Kuina consider fleeing to her father’s house, or seeking shelter in Kirigakure to escape her predicament. Before committing to a full-on retreat, she supposed there would be prudence in allowing Kamisori to give his account of things. 

To make the wait slightly less miserable, Kuina busied herself again indoors. When the meal was ready mid-afternoon, she set the dining table with a decadent spread and sat there, passionless. She had a book waiting. A bed fit for sleeping. Shoes to make a run for it. Kuina took advantage of nothing, only observing the miniscule movement of sunlight and shadows ticking into new positions at a picture window.

The passage of time had become immaterial, and Kamisori returned before sunset, unassuming as he shut the door and ordered himself in the genkan. He gave Kuina a sidelong greeting as he slipped off outer layers and hung them up. She did not react. Kamisori padded over the warm floorboards toward the table and observed her. 

He’d met statues with more personality. It was unlike her.

Kamisori circled around the table and kneeled down beside his wife, prodding her arm with a finger as if to confirm she was not dead where she sat. His worry began to prickle off of him, evident and genuine.

“Kuina.” He touched her pallid face.

No words of acknowledgment came from her, not even a blink. Kuina faced forward and noticed how her mouth was dry. How odd it was to experience this moment and attempt to navigate it. 

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?” Kamisori asked, “Was it a patient again?” He remembered how troubled she had been after losing Himori.

She shut her eyes; her throat felt too tight for speaking. When Kamisori looped his arms around her, tucking her beneath his chin; it felt real. His concern and affection couldn’t have been fake. She inhaled deeply for a while as he tried interpreting her lack of cues. Kuina pried out of the embrace, composed herself and said, “Go to the study.”

“Why? Tell me if you’re alright, Kuina. Did you eat?” He indicated the set table.

She repeated, “Go.”

Perplexed, he rose slowly and she listened to his footsteps as he ventured into the house as directed. Static silence consumed everything as she sat on a cushion at the table, framing in her mind’s eye how Kamisori would step into the office and see the disassembled  _karakuri_ box, and how the contents within it had been reviewed. After that, Kuina could not forecast what he would do.

A morbid tension echoed in the returning footsteps. Kuina wondered if she should prepare to defend herself, or if he would threaten her to gain cooperation. Yet Kamisori merely returned to the table and took a seat across from her. He did not thank her for the meal as he scooped lukewarm rice into a bowl. Kamisori would not meet her eyes.

Since Kuina could think of no appropriate way to broach the subject that had been raised, she let him eat. She made no motion to serve herself food or ask him for anything. Kuina sat and watched his face that was canted away from her and brooding. 

As minutes slipped by, she felt more frustrated by this typical display of avoidance. Kamisori would try to play this off. If she allowed it, he would act like it never happened. No discussion would take place if he believed he could maintain the status quo of their household. That was not a result she could accept. Kuina let her willpower feed on the spite and pride that simmered beneath her serene expression.

“Lord Jinsong would probably congratulate you on finding a convincing stage wife in the Mist Village.” Kuina laid the issue bare before him, “I just wanted to extend my congratulations to you as well.”

Finally, he raised his mismatched gaze to look her in the eyes. Kamisori was rather astounded by the comment, “What?”

“You know perfectly well what I mean.” She resisted grinding her teeth together, angry that she had to explain it, “As a double agent, you wanted an excuse for being away from your clan and from the village. I turned out to be that excuse.” Kuina rested her hands on the table, “Tell me the truth! Did you marry me because I was convenient?”

He could only stare. It was as if he didn’t fully comprehend the topic.

“Say it!” She dug her nails into the wood of the table, “When you met me you saw an opportunity, didn’t you?” 

Kamisori began to formulate a response, “I did, but—”

She shook her head wildly, overriding him, “No. No. There is no  _but_  there. That was a simple question.”

“Even so,  _the answer_ isn’t simple!” He defended.

Kuina lurched over the table, “The answer. You can’t give me straight answers…because you hide and you lie. Even your sister knew that.” She straightened up and howled at him, “You lied to me! How can you love someone you can’t even be honest with?”

His tone was indignant and severe, “I  _do_ love you.”

She scoffed at the declaration, “There’s no proof  _of that._ Pft! There’s no paper in the world that can confirm that!” She was referencing the documents she had snooped through, “I walked into this relationship, practically ran into it, going only on assumptions. What a mistake that was…” Kuina had turned her disapproval inward.

“The things you read today were kept from you because they are now  _inconsequential._ ” Kamisori insisted, “I did find you at the time I needed a cover, a purely coincidental meeting…but that  _doesn’t_  mean that I don’t care for you.”

“You can’t decide to  _not_ tell me about something of that magnitude just because  _you_ think it’s inconsequential.” Kuina spat, shaking, “What else didn’t I know about you? So many things. That you’re a swordsman. That Okimo suffered for years and you were hardly ever there. She couldn’t protect you from that lowlife who trained you…and you couldn’t protect her.”

He brought his fist down and clattered dinnerware on the table, “ _Those_ are parts of my life that aren’t your business. You were wrong to go through those things.”

“If you could tell anyone about the hardships you faced,  _it should be me._ ” She felt her eyes moisten, “I’ve been locked out. Excluded even in a literal sense— because whenever it pleases you, you can replace me with someone  _real_ from your clan.” Kuina swiped her arm across her face, trying to preserve some dignity, “I won’t deny that I’ve been stupid. That I’ve done things I shouldn’t have. But I’m within my rights to refuse to be a vehicle for your reconnaissance and scheming for rebels.”

Kuina rose from the table, phlegm thickening in her chest and making it difficult to breathe. She made the vain attempt to find shoes and a jacket in the closet of the genkan, not really thinking about  _where_ she intended to escape to. Kamisori had already stood up and blocked her exit, and Kuina was too feeble and teary-eyed to try to duck past him.

“Kuina, please. Stop.” He stilled her hands and discarded the items she collected, “You’re right. There are still many things I need to tell you; that you deserve to know— no matter the light it sheds on me. And I am truly sorry that I’ve waited this long to share it all with you.”

“There’s no need…to apologize.” Kuina wiped her eyes and reversed directions, scurrying through the interior of the loft and to the corridor. She was trying to gather some resolve. Kamisori followed after her, the  _exact_ thing she didn’t want him to do.

“I’m sorry that I’ve been dishonest with you, Kuina—”

She shoved him roughly and kept walking, unwilling to be blocked from an escape route.

He sounded frantic, “—you need to listen to me-!”

“ _NO._ ” Kuina felt spittle fly from her mouth as she snarled, “This isn’t  _where I bend._ I’ll be wiser. Hayago  _warned_ me about  _you._ ”

She felt his hand close around her wrist and her instincts were jumbled, signaling  _fight_ and  _flight_ simultaneously. Kuina swept her leg behind his ankle as she pushed him off, rotating her hips to give him a toss. Kamisori fell and slid a short distance over the wood floor, bewildered by her reaction.

“As someone who’s been trained by another former swordsman of Mist, I don’t need an explanation of what it is you do best.” Kuina hissed, “Are you  _ashamed_ of how you murdered so many people? So you hide those posters in a box and act like it never happened-? You thought you could lie and sneak and get a woman for free—?”

Kamisori was up on his feet, nearly knocking a screen door out of its frame as he rose. She’d never seen the blue of his eyes shrink away, widened to the whites, apoplectic about her insinuation. His voice carried through the house and into the redwood wilderness for a distance,  _“YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I’VE BEEN THROUGH!”_

She might have been bowled over by the roar had she not been so eager to scream back, “Of course I have no idea!  _YOU NEVER TOLD ME THE TRUTH!”_

That cowed him for a moment. Kuina stole those precious seconds to storm down the hallway’s end to the bedroom; though she knew he would be close behind. She moved quickly to gather things. When Kamisori appeared at the doorway, the anger sloughed off of his face and gave way to panic. Kuina had pulled clothing from the closet and drawers, draped a blanket over her shoulder, and fit any other odds and ends she could carry in her arms.

“Where are you going?” Kamisori asked. He had little choice in moving aside, as Kuina won the shoving match at the door.

“Nowhere. I’m not going anywhere; do you want to know why?” Kuina crossed the hallway, opened a door with her foot, and dropped her belongings into the room, “Because the moment I leave, people will be watching. The leader of your clan…the Mizukage…they’ll scratch their heads and say,  _Hm, why the falling out?_  If they realize  _I know_  what you are  _really_ trying to do, we are both fucked.” 

The blank look on Kamisori’s face indicated that he had not gotten that far in his thought processes. Potential strife could arise if they didn’t keep their cool around opposing leaders. Marital issues and/or status would have to be worked out carefully. 

Kuina stood toe-to-toe with her husband, “It’s fine, Kamisori. Use me. Do whatever you want with my image. I married you for who you were pretending to be…at least keep up the charade.”

Distraught, he gently cupped her cheek in his hand, “How I feel about you is  _not_ a lie.”

The heartfelt admission hung there. His mind raced, struggling to convey feelings that were oceans away from the sickening, doleful things she had discovered in the puzzle box.

Before Kamisori could communicate anything to her, Kuina pulled his hand from her face.

“If it  _isn’t,_ ” Kuina told him, “It might as well be.” With a single backwards step, she was in the guest room, and then she sealed the door. For a second, Kuina was disoriented and groped around for a light switch. She found it and snapped it on. 

It was a suitable habitation, though it paled in comparison to the bedroom she shared with Kamisori. Kuina opened a cabinet and took out a freshened futon, making up bedding for the night. She would completely forsake dinner. She couldn’t be  _out there_ to debate any of this with him, or it would go on all night. Kuina gathered up the clothing and personal items on the floor and relocated them to a bureau. 

She extinguished the light and then laid down to sleep. Kuina was relieved that Kamisori made no bid to intrude. The urge to cry had faded again, and she contemplated their circumstances. Her friends may have said  _We told you so,_ at this point. She pulled the blanket up to cover her nose.

 _‘I can tolerate Kamisori…but I can’t be close with him anymore.’_ Kuina thought to herself. That was the only power she held over him. Clearly, Kamisori was perturbed by her efforts to distance herself from him. Contradictions rooted in frustration and affection would eat her alive, but for now Kuina could abide by them.

The room’s dimensions and setup felt eerie, and the wind outside sent tremors along a thin tree branch. Scratching sounds on the side of the house would keep her awake until morning, Kuina felt certain of it. But she rolled onto her side and curled up, asleep before the moon reached its zenith.

* * *

On the ground below the loft, Kamisori tore things apart for a time. In the dark, saplings and ancient trees alike bore the brunt of his agitation, until the clearing had become an inexcusable eyesore. Trunks and debris littered the place. His knuckles were shredded and bloody. Kamisori returned indoors and washed his hands off at the kitchen sink. Then, he cleared off the dining table. His mind and spirit felt much quieter while doing familiar things.

Kamisori sealed up the house, stoked the fire in the hearth, and then returned to his bedroom. He winced at the sight of drawers still ajar and emptied, from when Kuina had pillaged them. He neatened and closed them. There was no point in changing or getting comfortable. Kamisori fell face-first onto the bed. The first inhalation of air he took there filled his nostrils with Kuina’s scent, still impressed upon the sheets. He held very still and did everything he could to memorize the smell, just in case he never had the chance to again.

What a disturbing turn of events. He’d looked forward to coming home after a draining mission. How could he have known that his wife could recognize or had skill with puzzle boxes? It had been kept out of sight. Quite frankly, nothing inside of that box  _mattered_ to him these days. But his choice not to discard those materials or be forthcoming with information had sabotaged the trust Kuina had in him. He wasn’t angry that she had been sleuthing, or that she used past misdeeds as a frame of reference for his character. Kamisori was most disappointed in her skepticism. That she truly thought herself so unimportant, that he might actually agree to Jinsong’s offer.

Had he not made his intentions clear? Listened to her troubles? Supported her? Pleased and adored her? Done all of the things decent men did?  _‘And how does any of that matter when I hesitated to provide her with complete honesty?’_  He reflected,  _‘She may have forgiven those things if I had told her about them. Now I cannot ask her to do that.’_

Kamisori fiddled with the wedding ring on his finger. Kuina had put it there with sincerity. He felt helpless. His limbs were leaden, and he pressed his face into the pillow where she always slept. His stream of consciousness waded into velvet, warm dark, where sleep lurked just beyond.

* * *

Earlier that day, Zabuza had handed off one last rent payment to the half-blind landlady of his building. The contract was up and she asked if he was moving out. When he indicated that he was, and that he was leaving behind furniture, she supposed out loud that she could bump up the price on a furnished space for the next tenant. She didn’t blink twice when Zabuza disappeared onto the street with only a bag on his back.

He had sent Haku ahead, transformed in the guise of another child he’d spotted on the street. Zabuza had instructed him to take the same path through the village and cross the river at a pedestrian bridge, following the banks toward the shelter of the bamboo grove. Sure enough, he found the boy waiting for him there. Haku had shed his disguise and was rummaging around his travel bag. He retrieved a scarf and tied it around his neck.

“No one noticed you.” Zabuza presumed.

Haku slipped the bag’s straps over his shoulders, “No. There were many other children wandering around.”

“Right. That’s because the lowest caste in Mist can’t afford to put their kids in school.” Zabuza explained as they set out, “So they work or they beg all day.”

“What is a caste?” Haku asked.

“It’s a social hierarchy. The same way you’d rate the quality of an egg or whatever, but with people. The lowest quality, worst-off people in the village are called  _chonin_ or  _hinin._ They get saddled with unpaid work or servitude frequently, which is why they have a tendency to sympathize with ninja clans— who are more likely to pay them.” He glanced down at Haku, “Your type of people, countryside types…they’re the lowest of the low around here.”

“Oh?” He blinked in surprise.

“Yeah. Those who aren’t productive farmers or artisans, and live outside of Hidden Mist.” The man did not sugarcoat it for him, “They are  _eta._ No one gives them the time of day.”

“Ah.” Haku felt informed, “They have no connections or friends in the village.”

“Sort of. They just aren’t allowed to partake of anything or socialize in Kirigakure. Usually they keep their distance and do business with other hamlets.”

Haku wondered, “Can  _eta_ become something better? Go up a step?”

“Hardly ever.” Zabuza sniffed, “But you will.”

“Because I will be a ninja, someday.”

“Yeah.”

“Are ninja treated the best?”

“For the most part. There are sub-categories of shinobi that I’ll get around to explaining to you. But being a ninja affords you a lifestyle better than that of farmers or merchants.” Zabuza added, “Until you die.”

The implication was not lost on Haku. Quarrels between shinobi would inevitably cost lives.

Their footsteps crackled over the twigs and rubbish of the grove. Haku kept pace with Zabuza, thinking about how they were bound for a completely new place. To avoid asking too many questions about their destination, Haku asked the only question that mattered, “Will there be more fresh air there?” He would not miss the confinement of the flat in Hidden Mist.

“Way more. You can spend all day outside, if you want.”

The boy smiled to himself and looked forward to the marked improvement and impending freedom. A limitless sky overhead, fields with arrays of green leafy plants for the harvest, storms rolling down the slopes of mountains in the distance— Haku pictured the outdoors he’d known in his old life. Zabuza placed a hand on the top of his head to halt him. Haku immediately froze and then obeyed when Zabuza pointed out a mossy rock formation for him to hide behind. Haku waited there breathlessly for a while.

Zabuza fetched him when the coast was clear, “Had to act natural for a passing patrol. There won’t be any more of them from this point on.”

They proceeded and the dips and hills of the forest accommodated stranger, wilder trees, streams, and landscape. Spotted pigs nosed at the undergrowth in search of food. Haku felt compelled to chase them, but knew better than to indulge the whim. Sporadically, Zabuza would direct him to exercise chakra control by clambering over natural obstacles, leaping over wide gaps, and scaling trees that became more massive the further they roamed.

As the day wore thin, Haku spotted another lone, wild hog from his vantage point up in a tree. No sooner had he pointed it out to Zabuza, the man lashed out with a kunai that stuck deeply in the back of the animal’s neck. Haku bit back a gasp as the pig tossed up leaves, skittering a short distance before it collapsed. Zabuza dropped down from the branch to collect the game. He looked up at Haku with an expectant expression, and the boy timidly joined him.

“When you’re between villages, there will be times you need to get food on your own.” Zabuza cautioned him, “So you’ll hunt or you’ll fish. I can show how to find plants that aren’t poisonous.”

Haku nodded absently while staring at the dead pig.

“Pay attention. I’m going to show you how to skin and prepare it.” He crossed over to a bubbling stream and wiped the mud off of the carcass. Once it was cleaned, the man splayed the pig on its back on a gravel bank. Haku shifted nervously on his feet as Zabuza prodded a knife into the soft flesh of the groin, opening up the body as if it had a zipper. The child held his breath and swayed at the sight of a bladder, unburst, being removed. A variety of other organs followed as Zabuza gave an explanation of each.

Mumbling that he would remember the instructions, Haku stood and pressed his face onto Zabuza’s shoulder while he was crouched down and working. He was overwhelmed. As the demonstration progressed, Haku grew more accustomed to the sights and smells. Zabuza even handed the knife to him and directed him, explaining how boar skin was tough and took a lot of time to cut away. Haku tired of the task after a few minutes. The man ordered him to fetch a rope from his travel bag for the next step.

“Tie that to a tree branch.” Zabuza told him.

With the line in hand, Haku scaled the nearest oak tree and fastened the rope around a bent branch. He bit his lip as he tested the knot he’d learned of from the training manual. He had only ever practiced knots on his scarf while spending days alone. Haku hopped down and watched Zabuza finish skinning the animal. For a moment, Zabuza handed the knife off again while he searched his bag for an odd tool, a thin metal bar. He hooked it between the pig’s extended legs and tied the bar up, suspending the kill in air. A timely assistant, Haku handed back the knife to Zabuza. He was now interested. What had felt frightening at first was now another lesson. As the shoulders and tenderloins were removed, Zabuza set them down on the frosty bank.

The man instructed over his shoulder, “This will take a bit longer. Dig a pit for a fire and get wood.”

“Yes, Zabuza-san!” Haku scampered off and gouged a pit in the forest floor with a stone from the stream, then searched for twigs for burning. Zabuza barked over the distance that he wanted strong, straight twigs or small branches as well. Haku chirped in the affirmative and scoured the ground. He returned with a variety of wood, not exactly sure what purpose it would all serve.

When the butchering was done, Zabuza knocked divots into the straight branches and arranged a lean-to over the pit. He sharpened other twigs to points and skewered the meat, leaning each stick upright over the pit. He told Haku to fetch a cotton wad from the bag, which he used for kindling. The boy paid close attention to how the fire was made. 

Haku took over after getting the explanation, fanning and blowing gently on branches that caught and transferred the cotton ball’s flame. He added dried twigs and watched the fire extend, popping and hissing when droplets of fat from the meat dripped down. Nearby, Zabuza untied the rope and bar, and then discarded the unused parts of the animal in the underbrush.

“Other animals will find and finish the parts we don’t need.” He told the boy as he huddled down beside the fire. “We can’t stay here after we eat. The smoke might attract attention.” Zabuza tucked away the tools he had used into this travel bag and fussed with the skewers over the flames.

Daylight was waning and the cold grew sharper. Haku asked about the animals that might devour the remains of the kill they had thrown away.

“Bears. I’ve seen them come and go. There aren’t many wolves left on this island. Sometimes shinobi breed and train them for tracking and reconnaissance.” Zabuza supposed, “Wolves are more common on the main land. Yumegakure uses wolves for ninja missions.”

Haku was surprised that a village could  _hide in a dream._

“No, it’s not literal. It’s a tiny place near the south of the Fire Country.” He clarified, “That’s what I’ve heard.” When Haku blinked at him, Zabuza illustrated by pointing in different directions, “See that? That’s due north. Then east, south, and west. Kirigakure is now south of us. This island is to the southeast of the mainland. That’s where the Lands of Fire, Rivers, and Wind are. All that junk.”

“I think I saw a small map in the book.” Haku recalled.

“I’ll find you a better one to look at.” Zabuza pulled a loose stick in the fire to a better position, “The world is big. It’s not just Mist ninja scrambling for a piece of it. Other shinobi villages serve their countries…and most of them are not at war like we are here.”

“Maybe we should live there?” Haku suggested astutely.

A mutter of a reply, “Maybe we should.”

After a silence Haku added, “And then nothing would change here.”

“Nothing may ever change here.” Zabuza imagined, “Sometimes I think I’m an idiot for assuming there’s anything I can do. Anyone who thinks so is probably an idiot.”

“Mother said that wise men are fools who learned their lessons. They just stay fools if they don’t.” Haku was fiddling around with a thermos of tea, and set it close to the flames to warm it, “So we should keep learning.”

“The trick is learning fast enough.” Zabuza warned him.

They rotated the meat on the fire to cook evenly. Zabuza gave a more in-depth lecture on cardinal directions and how they were essential for navigation. He told Haku that by nightfall, if the sky stayed clear, the stars would help reinforce his sense of direction. When the meat was ready, they ripped pieces off and chewed noisily. Haku thought it tasted like pork and beef all at once, from what he remembered of life on the farm. What meat they didn’t eat Zabuza carefully wrapped in a waxy paper, and then scooped fresh snow into a bag to chill it.

With full stomachs, they stamped out the fire and pressed on shortly before sunset. It was a long trek, and Haku was not pleased with how he lagged behind. Zabuza slowed for him repeatedly. It was obvious to Haku how he was delaying their progress west through the brush. When they came to a line of gargantuan trees stretched tall in the dark of night, Zabuza said they could stop. Haku nodded and wobbled where he stood. 

The man scooped him with one arm and then leapt up into the redwoods. He found a nook that was not slick with snow, and hung their bags from an adjacent branch while pulling out an extra travelling cloak. It was not thick enough for the winter cold, but it would have to do. Zabuza settled down and wrapped up, patting Haku to turn around when he tried to curl into the man’s chest. He gestured to the sky, visible in the gap between treetops. Haku looked up, pursing his lips when he realized he had not seen the stars since he’d been brought to Kirigakure— dingy with round-the-clock lights and brick buildings.

He sat with his back to Zabuza’s front and asked, “Will we fall from up here if we go to sleep?”

“I won’t, so you won’t.”

“You said the stars can help me tell directions.”

“Yeah. In winter, look there for Orion. That big red star is always in its corner. Below it is the  _rabbit constellation…_ ” Zabuza pointed out features of the innumerable stars and their patterns, “That’s south by southwest. If you know that, you can find the other directions. Stars change with the seasons.”

“Do they move?”

“No, we’re moving. The planet tilts and moves farther away from the sun over the course of a year.” He didn’t want to give a lengthy report on planetary orbits, “When we rotate we get day and night.”

Haku nodded. Some of these concepts sounded familiar. His parents may have tried to explain it a few times.

“Cutting down the east and south of this island is the  _Razor Clam Pass._ Those are jagged mountains with high peaks. We get through them with tunnels and valley passages.” Zabuza added, “Lots of ambushes can happen there, because of the choke points. This redwood forest in the north and west is also a natural barrier. The land is rough and unsettled.”

“So people can hide in this forest?”

“For a while. No one really wants to come here and be exposed to the elements, or the lack of resources. The center and south of the island are preferable.”  He cautioned, “But even in wilderness, if a Hunter team from Mist is serious about tracking someone, it’s not hard for them to find a target. They have Sensors and other tools. When someone wants to leave Mist…they’re better off leaving the Land of Water altogether.”

“Mm-hmm.” Haku let his eyes flutter tiredly, drained from the journey. 

“I do per diem work with the Hunter Corps when they need to fill squads. It’s really not the best job.” Zabuza puffed out a small breath of irritation. He really wouldn’t know  _which_ role in Kirigakure would be the most satisfying. Every position had its pros and cons.

A thought occurred to him; simple yet ambitious. One day Haku would be grown, and more than likely a capable shinobi. He would be well-rounded at that point, and could take his pick of councils, Corps positions, and squads. That was, if rampant prejudice of Blood Limits didn’t stop him.

“You’d do well with Hunters.” Zabuza imagined out loud, “Even Torture and Intel could use you. You could teach if you can deal with stupid little shitheads chattering. Dignitary relations and all that. You’ve got the chakra control and reserves for the Sealing Corps, if they weren’t such fucking selective twats.” 

All of that was predicated on the possibility of Mist being a freer, more understanding environment for up and coming shinobi. Zabuza felt that the most likely scenario was that Haku would be trained in secret to replace him. As a swordsman. That he would debut abruptly one day and carry on a tradition in Mist that was outlawed.

He craned his neck to look down and noticed Haku softly snoring.

* * *

In the dark, inhospitable hours of morning, Kuina woke in the guest room and immediately staggered to her feet. She had to get moving before  _he_ did. 

The futon was folded up and stuffed it in a cabinet with one motion. At the window, she saw a steady curtain of snow falling outside. Kuina sighed before treading quietly out of the room. She hesitated in the corridor before slipping the main bedroom’s door aside, stealing a peek at the liar in the bed.

She almost pitied the sight of Kamisori, facedown and fully dressed, laying diagonally on top of the covers. He was breathing. She studied the slow, imperceptible rise and fall of his back. Kuina closed the door silently and then readied herself in the bathroom.  _‘I wonder if he’ll show his true colors later, when I come back from a check-in at the village?’_ Kuina was preparing herself for future blow-out arguments, passive-aggressive retaliation, and other agonies her imagination could whip up.

Dressed in layers and her coat, Kuina set out as the first winks of light shivered from between snow clouds. Dark trees glowed copper in the sunlight during her commute. The air was still, and Kuina wondered for a moment if she heard the sound of others passing through the wilderness. There were only songbirds awake, echoing their tunes in the vastness.  _‘No one’s out here…’_ She shrugged off the feeling. 

Businesses and offices had only just opened by the time she arrived in Kirigakure. Kuina had gone looking for Guo in the hospital to invite him to breakfast, but her apprentice was nowhere to be found. When she glanced over scheduling charts, she inhaled sharply at the sight of pen scratch marks through the time-slot marked beside her name. It had been initialed by Jokichi. So-Eun was faithfully manning the desk and noticed Kuina’s scrunched face.

“Jokichi-san was here last night and told me he was ordered to cover your shift today.” She pointed to the next scheduled shift Kuina would be covering in two days, “He said Mizukage-sama needs to speak with you, Kuina-chan. I guess you should report to him?”

Google-eyed, Kuina tried to play it off as if she wasn’t alarmed, “Oh? Alright then, I’ll just…” She cleared her throat, “Have you seen Guo?”

“I think there was a page in the recovery ward he responded to, not long ago. We had a team come in with some awful injuries…they’ve been having a rough night.” So-Eun filled her in.

“Okay. I’ll catch up with him later.” She offered the technician a friendly smile and then hustled out. The snow had stopped. Kuina felt her stomach twist— a protest from hunger and anxiety. She stopped near the stalls where the Diwali festival was still ongoing, passed under the  _noren_  of an eatery and took a seat. As the first customer, her poached eggs and biscuits arrived immediately. 

She sipped a bowl of broth to warm up while thinking,  _‘The Mizukage…couldn’t know, could he?’_ Kuina shook her head,  _‘I mean, **I** only just found out that Kamisori is definitely not a Mist Village loyalist. Among other things.’ _Her breathing was uneven and raspy, fearful,  _‘But Kyonjin-sama does pick up information quickly, I’ve noticed. No. There is no way he could know about this. But if he does—?’_ She mopped up egg yolk on her plate with a biscuit,  _‘I’d have to confess. I want to work things out quietly at home…see if Kamisori might quit reporting back to his clan…but if the Mizukage tells me to substantiate any evidence or suspicion he has against Kamisori…’_

Kuina crammed the biscuit in her mouth and her eyes watered. Never before had she been on the Mizukage’s bad side. She knew that it was a very ugly position to be in, and that she actively worked to convince Kyonjin of her dependability. Based on what she knew of the Mizukage’s character, any reasonable doubt could prompt him to fling her from her position. It was a sobering thought. 

She imagined being caught in such a scenario, and being forced to go home to assassinate her husband…or track down his clan and report on their whereabouts. Kuina even tried to conceive of Mist’s notorious prison, where no incarcerated ninja ever returned from.  _‘And Kamisori said the prison’s warden is immortal…’_ That didn’t help bolster her nerve at all.

She paid for her meal and passed through the center of the village to the administrative building.  Inside, Kuina unwound her scarf and hung her coat on a rack near the door. Employees and shinobi were only just trickling into the offices. Aromas of coffee and tea wafted into the air. Before she could turn off into the hallway for the staircase, Kuina nearly crashed headlong into a fifty-something year old kunoichi with coifed gray hair. It was one of Kirigakure’s preeminent Sealing Commissioners, Hōzuki Misaki. Kuina sputtered apologies.

“Oh.” The older woman skimmed her violet eyes over the Chief Medic, “So that’s what you look like.”

Kuina’s reaction was on a two-second delay, “Pardon me?”

“You’re Kuina, yes? We were just talking about you upstairs. I dropped something off.” Misaki’s explanation was cryptic, “Go speak with Mizukage-sama now. I’ve got to run and meet with some legal counselors before the district judge sets a court date next week.”

“I’m sorry, Misaki-sama, but…” Kuina fished for information, “That court hearing has nothing to do with me, does it?”

“Why would it?” The veteran kunoichi quirked her face, “The Suikazan clan will tear the Mist Village apart if we don’t put a stop to it. Both Fuguki and Samebito have been called to testify before a panel.” She scoffed, “I for one am glad to be rid of my clan’s troubles. They can all hang.” With that lovely sentiment, Misaki stalked off.

Kuina climbed the stairs with the grace of a robot, berating herself for the stupid, self-incriminating remark. She knocked once on Kyonjin’s office door before she was invited in.

She nearly startled again at the sight of Kyonjin rummaging in a locked cabinet right beside the room’s entrance. He looked at her strangely before greeting her, “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Mizukage-sama.” Kuina pulled it together.

“My apologies, Kuina-chan. Some important charts I keep on hand are floating around because,” He gestured to the state of the room, crammed with extra chests of drawers and cabinets, “I’ve had some sensitive material moved from the archives. Those plankhead clerks could have cleared another room to transfer these to,  _had it occurred to them_.” He slammed a drawer shut once a file was in hand, “Come inside.”

She shut the door and scuttled into the cramped office. Kyonjin tossed the file onto his desk and sighed, “I expect you’ve seen that Jokichi was ordered to cover for your hospital rounds?”

“Yes, sir.” Kuina strained to stand without developing a nervous tick.

“Good. There’s something else I want to talk about today.” When Kyonjin sat down, Kuina mirrored the gesture in the visitor’s chair, “You know that I trust you, Kuina.”

She swallowed hard, “I know that, Mizukage-sama.”

“There will be times I will ask you to take on challenging assignments beyond your duties as a medic-nin.” He went on, “Starting today.”

“I will be honored to serve the Mist Village however I can.” Kuina curled her toes in an effort to still her shaking legs.

The Mizukage was nodding and plainly content with her, “Then you understand that in response to extenuating circumstances, and to prevent advantages from being lost on the battlefield…your  _unique abilities_ may be crucial for countering our enemies?”

She nodded and sensed this meeting was not about what she thought it was about.

“I have approved A-level clearances for you, from this day forward.” He added, “And you may be called upon to serve as an auxiliary advisor of the Sealing Corps.”

Kuina blinked wildly.

“It isn’t a full-time responsibility, of course. You will be summoned by Commissioners when they decide they need you.” Kyonjin rested a hand on a large scroll balanced on his desk, “For now, you’ll dedicate your time to studying this.”

“And that is…?” She was waiting for clarification.

“A trinket that Elder Sōya came to possess quite some time ago, after foraging around ruins…and found that these techniques are exclusively suited for those of your lineage.” The Mizukage told her, “Outside of the Hidden Eddy village, such jutsu are unachievable. Or so Misaki and Fuguki claimed…but our Great Elder thinks otherwise.”

“What do you want me to do with these techniques?” Kuina asked.

Kyonjin fixed her with a long stare.

“Whatever I need you to.” He said coldly.

She took a breath and nodded. 

“If you need training companions or want to request testing jutsu with either of our jinchuriki, simply ask me.” Suddenly, the Mizukage was warm and reassuring once again, “We can oversee those tests in a secure area.”

Kuina noted, “I don’t think I would be too hasty to test anything on Yagura or Utakata. Not until I was sure a technique wouldn’t harm them.”

“They can be replaced.” Kyonjin drawled, unconcerned.

Rigid in her seat, Kuina avoided making eye contact and looked at the tattered scroll waiting for her. The Mizukage handed it off to her and advised, “Master what you can over the next six months. Do it in private…beyond the notice of your friends and family.”

Kuina nodded again.

“Spend the day with this, and let me know if you have any concerns or encounter any barriers with this text.” Kyonjin unwrapped a peppermint and popped it into his mouth. Kuina regarded this action as if it were sacrilege. The man had been a committed smoker. She didn’t have the gall to comment on the change.

“I’ll begin right away, Mizukage-sama.” Kuina rose and bent in a half-bow, tucking the relic under her arm. The Mizukage thanked and dismissed her before occupying himself with the charts he had retrieved.

The door clicked shut behind her after she scurried out. Gathering scraps of composure while descending the stairs did Kuina little good. She was on alert, watching her peripheral vision, clutching the scroll at her side as if it were contraband. Well, it was. It had just turned hands all the way back to an intended recipient, oddly enough. Outside of the building, Kuina only stopped for a few items at a nearby supermarket. She dallied in an aisle until she had fortified herself.

 _‘I thought I’d want to vent to Hayago or Sashayma…’_ She remembered morosely,  _‘Or see if I could help Guo out today…though I don’t want to run into Jokichi at the hospital…’_

Daikon, onion, and mackerel fillets were dropped into her basket.  _‘I’m burnt out already. I just want to go home. Get my head on straight…’_ Kuina was not sure if that was even possible, but she had to deal with the learning curve of marital stress, and possibly engaging in treason against her village.

Just before the checkout counter, Kuina noticed a small refrigerator of popular health drinks and containers of milk. Her glowering at the milk frightened the cashier who tried to greet her politely.

 _‘…I bet he drank it all by now.’_ Kuina clacked her basket down on the counter to let the cashier get to ringing her up.

She also snatched a liter of milk and added it to the conveyor belt.

* * *

Debumaru’s trilling  _jum, jum, jum_ cry reverberated from the rooftop, and Kamisori’s eyes snapped open. He lifted his head blearily from a pillow and rubbed his face; he could feel the impression marks from sheets left on his skin. 

Disconcertingly, the ptarmigan on the roof kept screeching and screeching, which as far as Kamisori knew meant that a genuine intruder had appeared. He slipped out of bed and peered out the window, though the angle was not ideal for spotting any movement on the ground below.

Within moments, Kamisori was out of the house, across the rap-around porch, and stalking over a board walkway built over behemoth branches that cradled the loft. He spied Zabuza on the ground below, of all people. Kamisori turned to Debumaru who had come to perch on a walkway rail, and made a face at the bird that demanded silence. He crept soundlessly along the branches overhead, unnoticed by the visitor below, circling around the edge of the property before dropping down.

From behind Zabuza, Kamisori struck an irritated tone, “It’s very unlike you to drop by unannounced, Zabuza.”

The younger ninja’s head snapped around, half-expecting Kamisori to make a subtle appearance. Zabuza was jittery and irritable. It had been a long time since he had visited the loft.

“Consider it an honor. I need shelter.” Zabuza’s reply cut to the point.

“I can see that, although I was under the impression you were well taken care of in Mist.” Kamisori had crossed his arms.

“Psh. Mist never took care of me.” Zabuza was looking around the place, “What the hell happened out here?” He was referring to the wreckage of the plants and trees laying about.

The white haired man cleared his throat, remembering that he’d had a tantrum outside the night before. He dismissed it as, “Rooting out pests.”

“Whatever...” Zabuza stalked back to a nettle of shrubs and grunted something at them. Kamisori watched in stupefaction as a small boy exited the thicket, popping a few berries into his mouth. He sidled up to Zabuza obediently before regarding Kamisori.

Kamisori’s eyes darted between Zabuza and the boy, realizing that some game was afoot, “Why did you bring him here?”

“I’m training him.”

“ _Training him?”_ An incredulous hiss.

“Are you going to give me shit about this? I know what I’m doing.”

“You have to bring him back to Mist  _immediately._ ” Kamisori insisted, “Whoever he belongs to— return him. We’ve been ordered not to train new protégées.”

“That’s not happening.” Zabuza dashed the thought, “This kid has a Blood Limit. You think I can waltz into the village and hand him off? He doesn’t have anyone.”

Wide-eyed, Kamisori stared at the little boy who was perfectly comfortable around Zabuza. The content of the conversation had not ruffled him at all. He licked the last remnants of berry juice from his fingers and then wiped his hands on his pants.

“Are you gonna welcome us in or not?” Zabuza rumbled.

The owner of the loft ran a hand through his bed-tousled hair and sighed wearily. Could he actually invite another complication into his life?

“I’ll take that as a yes.” With that, Zabuza began the ascent up a series of step-like branches, pointing out the footholds to Haku. Kamisori watched in bewilderment as the child managed the difficult climb, shaky on his thin legs…but still able to stick to tree limbs with chakra. 

Kamisori followed them up and then, with the only other option being a second argument, slid the door of the house open for them. “He made it up here on his own power…” Kamisori observed. 

As Haku walked inside the house and politely removed his shoes, Zabuza acknowledged, “Yeah. His chakra control is spot-on. Tree climbing isn’t a problem. Water-walking won’t be either.”

They entered the house as Kamisori asked, “Where did you find him?”

“Some backwater farm.”

A follow-up question stuck in Kamisori’s throat when Haku faced him and bowed with respect, “Thank you for letting us in!”

Kamisori could not banish the concerned frown on his face, “Not at all.”

“My name is Haku. What’s yours?”

He redirected his gaze to Zabuza, who was not involved with the introduction as he set travel bags down on the wood floor of the living area. Kamisori looked back to Haku, small and innocent in front of him. “Yuki Kamisori.” He said after the pause.

Haku nodded cheerfully, “It’s nice to meet you!”

While Kamisori was aghast at the exchange, Zabuza was rummaging through a bag while barking over his shoulder, “Haku.” The boy perked up when he was addressed, “Get over here.” Zabuza pointed out the sofa and told Haku to sit down and relax. He happily complied. The novelty of being in a habitable, warm house was a free shot of dopamine for Haku. He curled up on the sectional, unaware of the adults muttering near the genkan.

Kamisori motioned for Zabuza to join him outside on the porch, keeping their voices low.

“If you are caught trying to do something  _this asinine—”_

“Can’t get caught if we’re out here.” Zabuza countered.

“I won’t let you stay here.” Kamisori warned.

“You said any of the Swordsmen are welcome here when we’re in need.” Zabuza recalled an old agreement, “This constitutes need.”

“So you’re just going to  _leave him here_  while you commute to Mist for your missions?” Kamisori had thrashed a hand at the side of the house, indicating the child within.

“I don’t have a choice.” A growl of an answer, “I can’t keep him in Mist. Haku’s self-sufficient. He can take care of himself.”

“He’s just a child. He could wander off, or fall and break his neck from up here.” Kamisori stopped himself because he was starting to sound like his overprotective father, Miketoki. He pressed his mouth in a thin line as he realized it.

“He’s smart. Haku won’t do that if I tell him to be careful.” Zabuza crossed his arms, “He’s a genius.”

Kamisori scoffed, “A genius.”

“He is. He figures out how things work with barely any explanation,” Zabuza added, “Even jutsu.”

Exhaling noisily, Kamisori began to pace the engawa while thinking it over. He turned back to Zabuza, “This is ludicrous. You know nothing about raising children, much less training a child with a Blood Limit.”

Zabuza came back at him with sass, “Because  _you_ know more about it than I do, right?”

“What if he gets sick? What if you’re spotted by a patrol, interrogated, or  _scrubbed_ by the Torture and Intel Corps?” Kamisori framed possible obstructions, “They’ll  _know._ You are  _not fit_ for the responsibility of caring for that boy!”

“Can I be blunt with you?” Anger hovered at the edge of his voice, “I fucking get it. I had to clothe this kid and medicate him and all this other shit. It’s NOT difficult, and just because I haven’t done this sort of thing before doesn’t mean that I’m incapable.” Zabuza insisted, “No matter where Haku goes, there will be risks. I’m his best shot.”

Kamisori stared at him before turning to look out at the forest, nearly catatonic. Zabuza stood beside him, defiant, intent on making this arrangement a reality. Kamisori did not see much point in debating the matter with him when any other realistic option would make their lives more difficult. And due to the possibility of Kuina updating the Mizukage of his treachery and true loyalty right that moment, Kamisori could not be sure he would be a free man tomorrow. Thusly, Zabuza would make good use of the loft in that case.

 He dropped his hands at his sides, relenting, “Fine.”

Zabuza had a minute expression of gratitude on his face.

“If you are the best option he has, then help him. Dedicate everything you do to helping him.” Kamisori advised, “Give him a life better than what  _we_ had.”

A single, solemn nod acknowledged the proposal.

“Then you may as well tell me…” Kamisori went on, “Which Kekkei Genkai does he have?”

Zabuza about-faced to return indoors, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.” Kamisori leashed his impatience.

The two stopped in the open doorway and observed Haku on the sofa, where he had collected his training manual and was reading comfortably.

“He has the Hyōton.”

Kamisori’s eyes slid sidelong to Zabuza, predictably shocked, “That’s not possible.”

“I know.” Zabuza agreed, “Your clan doesn’t mess with outsiders. But I did an investigation out in the barrens, on a farm— found it iced over.  _Found him._ ”

Kamisori was shaking his head even though he was starting to believe it.

“Haku uses it easily.” He vouched for the boy, “Somehow he was born outside of your clan, and no one knew about it. I don’t have an explanation of  _how_ — I only know what I’ve seen.”

Kamisori had gone still and silent. When Zabuza did not get any further response or questions from Kamisori, he went inside. On the porch, dread was consuming Kamisori, boiling up from his stomach. He covered his mouth and tried not to think of the most plausible explanation. It was far too personal. He dared not speak it aloud for fear of making it true. That he was already certain of where Haku had come from, if not from the Yuki clan’s hideaway.

He trudged into the house and tried to fight off the speculation; he wanted to think of a way to set boundaries and expectations for these new houseguests— that arrest was a possibility in the near future, and maybe Zabuza should know about that. Before Kamisori could broach the subject, the ptarmigan’s cries from the roof distracted him.

Kuina was home unexpectedly from what was supposed to be an eight-hour shift.

* * *

The first strange thing Kuina noticed, before she slid open the front door, was the unmistakable, soft sound of a child’s voice coming from within. Her eyebrows did some acrobatics, brainwaves racing. Was it her imagination? She hurried inside and withheld a gasp of shock.

In the main room, Kamisori was seated at a table with Momochi Zabuza…and a small child. Kuina gave her head a shake and began peeling off her boots.  Eventually, her eyes locked onto Kamisori’s face. His expression indicated he was overwrought but complying with this situation. In an odd gesture of respect, Kamisori rose from the table and addressed her, “Welcome back.”

Zabuza and Haku’s heads snapped around in surprise. 

Kuina stashed milk and a few other items in the refrigerator before tottering warily toward the table, “…thanks.” 

“Should I be…reporting to the Mizukage?” Kamisori slipped in the subtle hint that he totally understood if he was now blacklisted, had she reported him.

She snapped out of her stupor and waved her hands, “What-? No. You’re…don’t worry about it.”

Kamisori was baffled by the answer.

“Um…” Kuina stopped by the table and smiled slowly; a confused, frightened smile, “Hello Zabuza-san. I never would have imagined that you’d visit.”

“Then you don’t have much of an imagination, Chief.” Zabuza was equally uncertain as to why the Chief Medic was  _welcomed back_  to a secret Swordsman hideout. He noticed a large scroll tucked under Kuina’s arm, “What the hell is that?”

 “Homework.” Her eyes scanned over Haku.

Upon being sighted, Haku stood to introduce himself since he was getting good at it, “Hello Miss! My name is Haku.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Haku.” Kuina couldn’t resist smiling at him. He was precious. “I’m Kuina.” She introduced herself and then motioned for her husband, “Sori, can I speak with you?”

He moved quickly to follow her to the far side of the space, near the kitchen’s window. Kuina plucked a persimmon from a bowl and began cutting it into wedges. There was no use in trying to act natural, because nothing about this was natural. 

“I’m gathering…” Kuina whispered, “Those two are here for a reason?”

Kamisori confirmed it, “They need shelter.”

“How long are they staying?”

“Indefinitely.”

Her eyes widened, “Why?”

“It’s complicated.” Kamisori murmured, “But I promise to explain it to you in full detail later. Anything you want to know, I’ll tell you.” He was cutting another persimmon up on a cutting board. There was no way to make their actions look organic to their guests.

They returned and set the serving dish on the table, and Haku was immediately interested in the fruit, “May I have some?”

Kuina replied in her enthusiastic, just-for-kids tone, “Of course!”

Following that reply, Haku turned to Zabuza in a silent inquiry for permission. When the man nodded Haku took a fruit wedge for himself. 

Kuina noticed the odd display, and slowly put two and two together. The boy, Haku, had arrived as a companion of Zabuza, by the look of it. Kuina knew full well that this sort of arrangement was uncharacteristic at best. Something Guo had once fretted about floated to the forefront of her mind again; something about a  _killer_ keeping the company  _of a child._ Kuina asked, “You didn’t…kidnap this child?” It was downright suspicious.

 “He was orphaned. I asked him if he wanted to stay with me.” 

Zabuza’s explanation was hard to buy, and she sniffed suspiciously, “How noble of you…”

He just shrugged at her, unconcerned about what she thought. 

Kamisori had a pre-prepared diatribe ready to be unleashed on Zabuza that would demand respect for Kuina so long as he and Haku were under their roof. Instead, Haku spoke up for his caretaker.

“He did a great thing for me. I was worried that I would die…” He rested a doe-eyed gaze on the man sitting beside him, “But Zabuza-san saved my life.”

Kuina gawked at the announcement. Her eyes flitted between the three oddballs gathered at the table in front of her, trying to wrap her mind around the absurdities that had occurred in the last 48 hours. After a short silence, Kuina rumbled with half-deranged laughter, ““Heh…heh heh…ha, ha, ha!”

It frightened the men a little. 

“It’s out of my hands, isn’t it?” Kuina snapped, “I’ve got a liar for a husband…and a killer adopting a kid!  _Great_. Stay. Do whatever you want!” She gathered her scroll and satchel before proceeding down the hallway. 

Silence prevailed again after the outburst. Haku was the only one that moved as he helped himself to another slice of persimmon. 

Finally, Zabuza canted his head at Kamisori, incredulous, “You  _married_ her?”

“Yes, just recently.” Kamisori sighed.

Haku did not quite understand why Zabuza was snorting with derisive laughter. The last bit of Kamisori’s patience eroded, and as he exhaled angrily a soft gust of cold wind whipped Zabuza in the face. That hushed him up.

“Enough.” Kamisori ground out the words, “Get up and follow me.”

The nomadic pair fetched their personal effects and tailed after Kamisori down a long corridor of the house. Zabuza supposed that the petite medic-nin, whatever her name was, had retreated into one of the many rooms in the loft. Kamisori led them to a spare bedroom with a sitting space beside a wide window, adorned with tatami mats and simple furniture. Haku inquisitively began to survey the room.

“You can stay here.” Kamisori told Zabuza, “On the condition that you adhere to the rules of my house…and show Kuina the utmost respect.” His tone darkened, “If you don’t, we’ll keep him…” He meant Haku, “And  _get rid of you.”_

“…fucking  _relax,_ you old psycho.” Zabuza muttered. He stepped into the room to unpack, and Kamisori supposed that was his way of agreeing to the terms.

As the unexpected house guests settled in, Kamisori gathered his nerve and moved a few doors down. He knocked on the door frame of Kuina’s separate room, then slid the screen aside, “I should explain.”

Kuina was seated on a floor cushion, bent over the unfurled scroll she had brought home. She read with her chin balanced on her palms. Without looking back at him she announced, “I don’t want to talk right now.”

“I’ll leave you be then.” He didn’t push it, “If you want to know—”

“What does  _he_ want?” Kuina growled, unable to restrain the most obvious question. She was referring to Zabuza.

“He found Haku alone in the countryside…saved him…and Zabuza told me that he cannot raise Haku safely within Hidden Mist.” Kamisori relayed the story, “He has a Blood Limit.”

She did not look up from her reading, but was still listening.

“I suppose that’s why they’ve come here. I offered up this place as a safe haven for…former swordsmen.” Kamisori clarified, “After we disbanded.”

“So you could scheme together.”

“So that we could escape  _desperate situations._ ” He corrected, “If we had to.”

“I know why Zabuza is here. He probably wants your help assassinating someone…or will lend a hand to the rebellion when they attack again.” Kuina’s voice was cold.

“I think…” Kamisori sighed again, “He just doesn’t want to die. I’ve never seen him put someone else first before…”

Kuina snuck a peek back toward the door, where Kamisori stood at the egress of the room. He had not come any closer.

“He’s putting that child before himself. I can’t condemn that.” Kamisori went on, “And I think that boy…Haku…he could be my nephew.”

Kuina craned her neck around, absolutely bewildered by the admission. The quaking warble of Kamisori’s voice underscored the truth in his words. That he feared that possibility and what it could mean.

“You really think that?” She breathed quietly.

“I do. Haku has the Hyōton, or so Zabuza tells me.”

“Maybe…confirm it first?”

“I will.”

Though she had intended to withhold any acts of consolation or closeness, Kuina’s compassion was stirred. She knew her husband’s background, and the pain it caused him. His offense against her could not count as a strike if in fact he had living family after all. If his sister Okimo had run off and had a family outside of the Yuki clan, the prospect even made Kuina feel hopeful. 

“I’ll run tests for you, if you want to be sure.” Kuina offered.

He nodded, “I would appreciate it.” 

After that, the look on her face hardened again. She wanted him to go. That was all that needed discussing. 

Kamisori lingered for another moment and said, “I remember when you had once said…that no man you have ever met has ever redeemed our gender in your eyes. I am sorry that I became one of them.” It was a sincere apology, “No matter what my initial intentions were…they are not the same now. I’ve vowed to stay by your side because that’s what  **I** wanted to do…no one told me to.” His gaze was blue and watery, “I hope that one day I can set things right between us.” 

Kuina nodded slowly and gave a guarded response, “I hope so too.” 

He closed the door and Kuina grimaced, wondering what to make of her relationship. She hunkered down to continue studying.

* * *

Zabuza spent most of the day outside with Haku reviewing hand seals. They also looked around and got familiar with the property hidden in the woods. Some tests of agility and chakra control were sporadically added throughout the day, but by evening Kamisori called them back to the loft. He was displeased with the amount of smelly boar meat in his refrigerator. He demanded that Zabuza cook it or get rid of it.

They cooked and ate it while watching Kamisori force down a few bites of persimmon. He looked utterly unenthusiastic about eating. The lack of appetite in the owners of the house was not lost on Haku. They both seemed upset. Kuina did not emerge from her room at all that day. When night fell, Kamisori permitted the guests to have a proper bath while he was closing up the house and stoking the hearth. 

In the washroom, Zabuza sat on a bathing stool and pulled bramble twigs out of Haku’s hair.

“Quit running into berry bushes, got it?”

“You showed me which ones are safe to eat.”

“That doesn’t mean you can run around eating constantly. Only take what you need.” He advised, handing Haku a washcloth, “Here.”

While cleaning up Haku asked, “Is Kamisori-san your friend?”

“I guess so.”

“He’s helping us.”

“That’s because he’s gone soft.” Zabuza supposed, “He wasn’t always like this.”

“You said that Kamisori-san is like me.”

Zabuza tested the temperature of water spraying from a shower head hose, “You have the same Blood Limit. That’s about it.”

Haku’s shoulders drooped and he held still as he was rinsed off. After that, Zabuza ordered him into the tub to soak in warm water. Zabuza finished scrubbing wilderness grime and scuffs from his own skin.

Haku then asked, “Why are they sad?”

“Who?” He didn’t get it.

“Kamisori-san and Kuina-san. They’re sad.”

“How should I know? We just got here.”

“Why won’t they eat?”

“Maybe they’re on a diet? Or the smell of boar made them sick.” Zabuza shut the hose tap off, “Most married people are miserable, so this is pretty standard.”

“Married. Like a mother and father are?” Haku recalled his perception of the union.

“Yeah, but without kids. Which kind of helps things.” He motioned for Haku to scooch over and he sat down in the tub beside him. Zabuza leaned his head back against a tile wall and shut his eyes.

“Maybe we can make them feel better?” Haku wondered.

“Why do we need to do that? We’re just here to have a roof over our heads beyond the scrutiny of Hidden Mist.” Zabuza reminded him, “Their problems aren’t our problems.”

“But if they don’t eat they’ll die.”

“They’ll eat.”

“Sometimes when you’re lonely…and you don’t eat much…you think it’s better not to.” Haku recalled softly, thinking of wandering the fields and alleyways of his town, “If we die, we might see them again. Our families.”

Zabuza glanced to his right, startled, “Did you try to do that?”

“Yes. The day you walked by.”

“Oh.” He processed for a moment, “Don’t do that again.”

“I won’t, Zabuza-san.” Haku agreed.

“You need to try hard to live. When you live, you can affect change. When you’re dead, you fade away.” Zabuza advised, “We’re not here to die and do nothing.”

“I know.” Haku wrapped his arms around his knees, “Zabuza-san, when we die is there something else? Can we think and see? Or are we just dirt?”

“Just dirt, I think.”

“Hm.”

“But honestly, I don’t know. I’ve seen many people die…but I can’t claim to know what comes after that.” Zabuza admitted.

“Mother used to tell me there is a pure land…it’s a paradise that’s perfect and happy. When we die, that is where our spirits go.” Haku reasoned, “And you told me chakra is part of our spiritual energy, as well as physical energy. If it’s real, then the pure land is real.”

Stupefied, Zabuza blinked hard at the child, “Okay. How do you  _prove it?_ ”

“We all have to wait. Until the end.”

“That’s not proving it, Haku.”

“If some things are true, that makes other things true.”

“Yeah, when you can  _test_ to see if it’s true.” The man asserted.

He looked up at Zabuza with a small smile, “It’s true.”

“Well you won’t see me holding my breath to find out.”

After warming up in the bath, Zabuza draped a towel over Haku’s head and told him to dry off. He ordered the bathroom before they dressed, knowing that Kamisori would harangue him for anything left out of place. 

In the guest room, Haku searched for a while before he discovered a cabinet with futons and bedding. He wrangled the items out of storage before setting them up on the floor. Without any fanfare, Zabuza shut the lights off and shimmied beneath a blanket on a futon. It wasn’t his preferred style of sleeping, but he would manage. Haku settled down on his own futon, humming happily as he bunched up a comforter and cocooned himself in it. He did not even say goodnight. He rolled over and slept.

When morning came, Zabuza felt a prickle at the edge of consciousness. He felt Haku pressed into his back, curled up for warmth. He had probably relocated during the night out of habit.

Due to his farm upbringing, Haku was up and yawning as soon as the sun kissed the horizon. Zabuza felt him rustle about and stand, folded up his futon. It took some effort, but he too managed to rise and neaten the room, pulling on extra layers for warmth. They left the room and Zabuza led the way through the house, only stopping when Kamisori addressed them from his seat at the low table.

“Zabuza.”

He gave Kamisori his attention, noticing dark circles under the man’s eyes.

“Keep the Seversword in the Master Scroll.” Kamisori advised, “I’ve been thinking of Mangetsu.  He will need resources if he’s on the move.”

“He’s alright.” Zabuza recalled seeing the elder Hōzuki brother at the market months ago.

Kamisori shook his head, “He won’t be, with this winter. We should be generous.” By that, he meant that keeping their preferred swords on hand would be insensitive. They ought to have respect for a master of all seven blades.

Haku chipperly greeted Kamisori and got a tepid “ _Good morning”_ in response. Zabuza took his ward outside to the ground level of the property, and tasked him with running laps around the redwoods until he could hardly stand. Zabuza only made Haku complete a short form of locking Taijutsu strikes twice.

“Time to eat.” Zabuza assisted Haku back into the house, keen to the jittery tremors in the boy’s tired arms and legs. Zabuza then noticed that Kamisori had left. He would be due to report to the Mizukage that morning.

Instead, Kuina had settled herself at the table with a pot of tea, and was reading the large scroll they had seen her with the day before. Some supplies were stacked beside her on the floor. There were also rolled omelets and chili peppers on a plate. She quirked her face at them as they also sat at the table.

“You can eat that.” She offered, and then could not resist grinning at Haku, “Good morning.”

“Good morning…Kuina-san!” He panted.

Zabuza ensured that Haku did not get an unintentional mouthful of hot pepper with breakfast. They ate in contented silence for a while until Zabuza posed a question to the kunoichi, “So what’s going on between you and Yuki?”

Frowning, Kuina did not even grace Zabuza with eye contact as she read and replied, “That really isn’t any of your business.”

He accepted the retort. He had a strange feeling that he ought not to cross the small woman. Zabuza told Haku to finish his tea and wait inside, and then exited the house to stake out a perimeter. He suspected that Kamisori was too lax to set traps in the event a Mist scout discovered the loft.

Haku sipped his tea while watching Kuina’s face. Her pale complexion was uneven, and dark hair shone indigo in the morning light. He longed for his mother a little; to play and be less serious.

“Kuina-san?”

She looked up and softened her expression.

“May I have something to read, please?” Haku requested.

“Oh.” Kuina tilted her head, “You can read?”

“I can.”

“I’m sorry, Haku. I don’t have any children’s books.”

“I don’t read children’s books.”

Kuina regarded him thoughtfully before rising from her seat, “Let’s see what we have…”

She dropped by the study with her guest in tow, to a cursed room that hid secrets— Kuina thought to herself. She and Haku skimmed over the spines of books on the shelf. None of the material seemed like relevant reading for a child, but when Kuina drew out a copy of  _The Journey to the West,_ Haku accepted the book gratefully. 

They returned to the table in the main room and sat side by side, reading in silence. Occasionally, Haku’s eyes strayed to watch Kuina slowly practice writing old seals with a wetted brush, sliding brushstrokes over a chalk slate board. Between each attempt she let the slate dry before trying again. Whatever she was trying to learn, she seemed disappointed in all of her attempts, Haku noticed.

Time passed and Haku grew more absorbed in the beginning pages of the novel he borrowed. Zabuza returned later in the morning, sliding the front door open and motioning with his head for Haku to join him. More training was in store. Haku puzzled for a moment on how to mark his page without dog-earring a corner.

“Here.” Kuina extended a finger, and let the book’s cover drop down, “I’ll keep it for you.”

A rush of elation and longing surged through him. Haku thanked her quietly before joining Zabuza at the door. 


	15. Unsolicited opinions of a giant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be advised that this chapter contains a graphic depiction of abuse and is not suitable for under-aged readers.

 “I told my wife that astronomers are just insomniacs, you know? They’re up all night and have to keep themselves busy. That’s where all her zodiac and calendar twiddle comes from— sleepless people charting. Wishing they _weren’t_.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Not that I wanna make sweeping generalizations here. Sometimes I’m up all night because I have wicked shits. Every night owl has his or her issue.”

“I invite you to change the subject.” Kamisori said.

Higashikuni’s smile was more of a suggestion beneath his beard, “Doesn’t mean that I will.”

“You are encouraged nonetheless.”

“A bit funny that the Mizukage assigned you to a partnership with me, don’tcha think?” Higashikuni wondered, “He’s not chomping at the bit to let swordsmen reunite, at least…not until threat levels escalate.”

“Then our assignment is telling, in that respect.” Kamisori paused on a tree branch to get his bearings, “Kyonjin-sama either trusts that we won’t return empty-handed, or hopes a rebel cell will get the better of us.”

“Win-win, for him.”

Their course angled north through dense forest, and the day was bright underneath a distant veil of clouds. The world was white and grey gradient, birch bark peeling, deer pawing in the snow below. They trekked and soared. 

Captain Hayago had delivered an abrupt report detailing an ambush point that could be used for a counterblow against Terumi Mei’s free-roaming cell. The Mizukage wanted her to pay for her defiant winter patrols of the island.

Beside Kamisori on a ridge overlooking deforested tundra, Higashikuni was a mammoth well above of 210 centimeters in height, rugged and comprised mostly of torso. Shorter and sleeker was Kamisori, a pale stoat half so tall. There was an air of friendliness about the giant that may have seemed illusory at first squint, but it was no fiction. He worked well with anyone.

“Which one are you?”

“Which _what_?” Kamisori gruffed as they descended wild slopes.

“Zodiac sign?”

“It’s all superstitious bunk.”

“Probably, but bunk is all my wife talks about.”

“The Rooster.”

“Heh. Of course.” Higashikuni sniggered, “I’m an Ox. Kuina is the Dragon, you know.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Dragon is a good match for you. You’ll move up in life. You’ve had an unlucky past, so you can relax a little now.”

“I can’t. Especially not now.” Kamisori disagreed.

“Must be because you’ve always been surrounded by white. That’s an unlucky color for you.” The huge man supposed.

“Right. Since it’s attached to my head, my clan, and this landscape.” He sneered at the assessment, “I will live like a king, won’t I?”

“Nah, you’ll probably just die some nasty way.”

A long sigh.

“Speaking of Kuina,” Higashikuni steered the subject, “I heard you married my student.”

“I did…though I had no idea you were the one who trained her years ago.” Kamisori confessed, “How did you find the time to train a team?” 

“Time enough! It was a wonderful side-project; some healthy diversion, you could say!” Higashikuni puffed up at the fond memory, “Though I wasn’t a top-notch sensei, no. Two of my students died! It’s still embarrassing to think about.”

“Embarrassing.” Kamisori repeated the unseemly word.

“Kuina was resilient. A survivor! And that’s why I liked her…hard-working Kuina…” The giant chortled as he lumbered over snow drifts, “She made quite the place for herself.”

Kamisori felt his stomach constrict, wondering how Kuina had endured under the tutelage of an indestructible oaf in her most formative years.

“What was the wedding like?”

“We didn’t have one.”

When Higashikuni pursed his mouth, his scrunched beard rode up his face. Apparently that was an unsatisfactory answer.

“We had a civil ceremony as per her suggestion.” Kamisori amended, “I for one liked it very much, even if I did not identify with the religious bent of it.”

“Something tells me it wasn’t sanctioned by your Lord Jinsong.” Higashikuni ventured, not as much of a dunderhead as he would seem.

“Not entirely. He won’t see it as a legitimate union.” Kamisori explained in a clear voice, “But I do.”

“Kamisori, you need to sit yourself down to write a _Fuck-You_ letter to that old fish, then marry Kuina properly. My student doesn’t deserve a slouch! Do it— or I’ll find her a better husband.” The wild look in Higashikuni’s eye conveyed more than mere sincerity. It carried a whisper-prick of chakra, motivation, adrenalin. That kinesis struck and filled Kamisori, though it had not been his companion’s intention to _rev him up._

Kamisori surged with speed, muscles alive. He raced over an icy embankment; all the while flanked by Higashikuni as the man _bounced_ his energy between them. It was the unique familial trait of the Abe clan. In groups, they could pool energy and invigorate every member of a regiment. One Abe clan shinobi on a team was enough for bushwhacking heedless victims…but two or more made for hell on earth.

And such misfortune would descend upon the rebel band of nine shinobi nestled in the foothills just ahead; where hunger, travel, and cold had pinned them with weariness.

* * *

Guo sullenly exited the treatment room and pulled the door shut behind him. He looked up from the floor as Kuina skittered down the hall, bright-eyed and glad to see him. It was hard to smile for her.

She sensed his gloom immediately, “What’s the matter?” She glanced through the glass window of the suite, spying a nurse evaluating a girl of about five or six years. The child was withdrawn and dirty, flinching.

“She’s had it for a while, and wasn’t vaccinated…getting very run down from symptoms.” Guo peered through the window with her, “Hep-B. We’ll treat the infection as fast as we can. I’m running some other tests.”

“Poor thing…where’d she come from?”

“One of the outskirt towns. Iyoshi— the file said. Child services brought here her after she was removed from squalid conditions. She’s been abused by both of her uncles.” Guo shook his head, “I want to think she could find a better family here, but that almost never seems to be the case.”

“Do you need me to help with anything before I finish my reports?” Kuina’s voice was pitchy, pained.

“Ikue-san has it covered. Thank you, Senpai.” They shuffled eastward towards the smell of coffee, lost in their thoughts.

20 kilometers west of Iyoshi was her hometown, the fishing village of Hiezu. A coastal gem, in spite of its ratty, eroded beaches and poverty. Though her memories of the home she knew before Kirigakure were idyllic for the most part, the sight of the Hepatitis-B positive child brought her back to a cheerless day. As if she were transported again to childhood, strolling Hiezu’s beaches, plucking oysters from fresh catch baskets. As if she were cornered by the resident town sycophant who pandered to Hidden Mist by day, and chased Hiezu’s children by night. Kuina walked straight down the hall without bumping monitors, her eyes trained on her past self.

How that eel of a man led her behind a retaining wall near the crabbing pier, and put his cock in her mouth; Kuina had mostly forgotten about it. Yet it rang louder in her mind and ribcage upon seeing the girl, and thinking of how, years ago, the swine patted money notes in her little hand as if to pay her for the interaction. And when Kuina returned home to show her father the money, and Uomaru inquired about how she’d earned it, in her ignorance she explained as best she could.

That was the night the neighbor went missing. To this day, Kuina imagined that her father had found that man and drowned him out at sea, tied down by several anchors. She never did ask.

They finished their coffee before dropping into the Pathology Lab, and discovered that the not-to-be-named Iyoshi girl had three other infections of varying severity. While Guo verified the needed schedule of medications, Kuina journeyed to the far side of the department to hijack portable blood tests.

“What are those for?” He wondered as they left.

“I just want to find out if Kamisori is related to…some kid.” The way she phrased it made her apprentice arch an eyebrow, “It’s not _his_ kid, just someone we’ve met…” Kuina looked out the second story window, observing a light dusting of snowfall, “Guo, can you tell me if Momochi Zabuza—”

“Came in here with a random child a few weeks ago and threatened me not to speak about it?” Guo completed the thought, “Yes, he did.”

Bewildered, Kuina paced back and forth in front of the double doors of the stairwell, “Did he? Really? Haku— I think he might be related to Kamisori.”

“Oh.” He spoke faintly, “Boy.”

“We have to swear this to secrecy, Guo. I need to look into it.”

“No, no, I totally understand. Let me pull his temporary file for you— I still have it.” Guo offered, squirrelly about the implications, “If any official in this village knew a kid like that was hanging around…that would start a full-blown manhunt.”

“I’ll keep my eye on them.”

“You’d better have both eyes on that rowdy lot…”

“Thanks, Guo!” She tagged along to the records room.

* * *

Around noon that day, Mangetsu pried open the sealed shutters of a rural home and climbed in through the top floor window. He delivered Suigetsu, clung like a monkey on his back, to an area rug to curl up on.

 _‘By the feel of it…someone’s home. At least one person downstairs.’_ Not that it concerned Mangetsu in the least. Temperatures had plummeted, and his brother stuck in wetted clothes was a recipe for disaster.  The big brother rubbed the small whelp’s cheeks in his palms, trying to snap him out of a frostbitten state of sleep, “Suigetsu, come on. Undress. I’ll find you something warm to wear.”

As a newly _plopped_ foal lurches and bumbles on the ground, Suigetsu moved with just about as much strength, “-I c-can’t. Don’t wanna…g-go back…in the s-snow…”

Drawer by drawer Mangetsu raided a bureau in search of something that would fit such a small body, “Up, I said. Clothes off.”

Shoulders quaking, Suigetsu pushed onto his hands and knees, fussing at the closures of an ice-slicked coat. For the coldest leg of the trip, Mangetsu had vibrated water particles in his body fast enough to keep his heat up. His little brother was not as proficient with the ability.

A few pilfered garments seemed adequate, maybe for the frame of a petite girl. He spun ‘round and kneeled down, helping Suigetsu shuck out of his damp sweater and pants. The dry clothes were welcomed in spite of their pinkness. Mangetsu rose and shook out his brother’s coat, hanging it on the back of a chair to dry.

From within another cabinet, he swiped a folded quilt to drape over himself, and gathered Suigetsu into his arms as they sat on the floor. “We can’t stay here long. There are people here and they’ll get nervous.” Mangetsu estimated, “Let’s give it 20 minutes and see how you’re feeling. You can still hang on my back if you’re too tired.”

“If people are here, just scare ‘em away.” Suigetsu suggested, “This could be our house.”

“Every action has a consequence. I scare them and they run, they’ll go to the nearest town and talk about ninja who look like us…and that’ll just make everyone more afraid. People who are afraid are more stupid and violent. That never helps anything.”

“…they’ll catch us and make us leave.”

“Then we leave.”

“Why? Where is a place that we _don’t_ have to leave?” The boy sniffled, “And go into the cold again?”

“The Loft.”

“You keep saying that.”

“That’s where we’re going.” Mangetsu reminded him, “We’ll reach it soon. The weather’s just been dogshit.” Suigetsu tucked his head into his brother’s chest, aching as warmth crept back into his fingers and toes.

He never gave much thought to what could go through a chicken’s mind as it incubated an egg, Mangetsu considered as he fluffed the blanket around his sibling. Surely his Swordsmen contemporaries would ridicule him for such a useless abstraction. The mind of a chicken and a shinobi were universes apart. This task hardly merited the comparison, though Mangetsu once heard someone say domesticated chickens were empathetic animals. If a mother chicken watched the rough handling of her chick, her heart rate would skyrocket. 

Mangetsu settled on that simple analogy. His heart raced when he saw others in pain too. Sometimes he caused that pain.

Incremental creaking of wooden steps heralded the approaching homeowner, and Mangetsu didn’t move a muscle. He sat serenely on the rug as a face peeked through the doorway and retreated in shock, gasping at the discovery of an intruder. The middle-aged man on the other side of the door gathered his courage and brandished a broomstick, “How did some…r-rag wearin’ bum climb up into my dormer? Oi- you! Can’t you talk?”

“Sorry for the inconvenience.” Mangetsu plucked at the stringy, unwashed hair on his brother’s head. Suigetsu was mostly hidden from sight as the homeowner strafed sideways into the room, warily pointing his makeshift weapon.

“You’d better get outta here ‘fore I split ya into _kabayaki-!_ ”

“Relax, old fella. We’re not staying long. It’s below freezing out there.” Mangetsu shivered dramatically for emphasis.

“Chilled travelers _knock on a door_ when a trip’s too much to bear!” The man barked, “Are you a ninja, eh? Dangerous?”

“Sure, I’m dangerous.” A concession he had to make.

“Well, get out! I won’t be threatened.”

“Does this look like I’m actively threatening you?” Mangetsu revealed a bit more of his brother curled in a ball, a truly pitiful sight, “We’ll be going soon. Let him thaw out.”

“Oh.”

After riffling around a hard-to-reach pants pocket, Mangetsu retrieved a money purse, “Here. You can have this. There are no shops around for days. Didn’t have any money until I sold my Dad’s last vintage bottle in the town before this…but turns out money doesn’t help either.” The man frightfully plucked the linen bag and peered into it, counting 520 Ryo. He goggled at the peaceful intruder.

“I took some clothes from that drawer, by the way.” Mangetsu confessed, “And _man!_ You brought up _kabayaki_ and now I’m starving. Been starving for a couple of days…” Wow. Not having human contact for over a week had made him rather chatty.

The man set down his broom and sank into an armchair at the edge of the room, “Got a name, stranger?”

“Ochiba.” Mangetsu made it up on the spot. 

“Alright then, Ochiba-san. Thanks for the money. I’ve been hurtin’ financially these days too.” He leaned back with a long sigh, “The name’s Kagi Toyosaburo. I used to be the top textile merchant in this region until the Mizukage issued that trade blacklist. I got caught selling to off-island clans.”

“Tch. That sucks.”

“What’s your crime?”

“Existing.”

“Oh so you’re one of those? I won’t tell.” He scratched at the scaly skin on his jaw, “Who’s the kid?”

“My little bro, Sui.”

“You can keep those clothes and take more if you want. My daughter died last year. Don’t need ‘em no more.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Mangetsu’s condolences were a half-truth. He was grateful that death yielded his brother a handout. 

“Damn chore to keep kids alive, isn’t it? When I was a sprout, my parents didn’t have so hard of a time with me. Wars weren’t this harsh…didn’t wallop folks in the crossfire nearly as much.”

“Guess I have to take your word for it.”

“Where are ya headed?”

“I’d tell you, but I don’t know if you’d send trouble my way later…so let’s just say some place with a roof.”

“Fair enough. Never ratted on anyone in my life, though, and Hunters don’t come out here anyways.” Toyosaburo rose to pull the window securely shut again. 

“How about rebels?”

“None of ‘em ever bugged me before, but I know they’re out in the countryside here. They’ve gotten bold. I know some other folks who trade with them secretly. Not the worst bunch.” He riffled around a cabinet for a knapsack, and then gathered unneeded clothing from the bureau. His eyes grew glossy as he rediscovered each piece, surprised by the meeting of fabric and memory, all forthwith stuffed into the bag, “You a rebel, Ochiba-san?”

Mangetsu had taken no official stance, “I’m nothing. For now.” 

“Maybe these days being nothin’ is the way to go. I hear people faring the best in Kirigakure are the ones who get ignored. Might be hungry and shitting in the streets, but no one’s killing and torturing them…”

“As far as we know.”

“…yeah. What do I know?” 

“Have you ever been to Hidden Mist?”

“Oh sure. A few years ago was my last bit of work there. I don’t miss it, at least, not as it is now.”

“Do you know the _Ashram_ on the west side of the village?” Mangetsu shifted his seated position, “I used to live there as a trainee. Not among the monks, but they sublet to Academy students and poor tenants in the area.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know that place…” Toyosaburo chuckled and sat down again, letting the satchel in his hand sag to the floor, “Some of my buyers had stores near there. And I remember walking past the Academy too. Do the kids still kill each other?”

“Not anymore.”

“Ah, that’s good.”

“When I was first starting out and away from my family, I was there a lot with my…friends.” Mangetsu waffled on the word as if he wasn’t sure he could say it.

“So, you’re some high-level shinobi? Elite something-or-other?”

“If I were, I probably wouldn’t have broken into your house.”

“Heh heh! Probably not.”

“I was good at everything…a quick study. If things weren’t so tense in the village, they might’ve kept me on and let me join one of the Corps.” Mangetsu sighed at the lost opportunity, “But I didn’t want to chance it. If I took a job there, I couldn’t go home to make sure my brother was okay.”

“Don’t you have any other family?”

“No.”

“Me neither. My daughter wanted to be a ninja, you know. She wasn’t cut out for it, but she was feisty. Had the make of a top businesswoman for sure, and she would’ve taken that path if she hadn’t gotten sick. I was sick too, but Tsuriito got it worse.” The man’s head couched into his palm, leaning on the armrest.

“Yeah, a lot of people started dying from the flu last year. It hasn’t stopped.” Mangetsu was aware of the rampaging illness, “Kirigakure has vaccines but doesn’t give them to outsiders. They worry they’ll be passed on to rebels, and the Mizukage doesn’t want them immunized.”

“’Spose that’s the new hot-ticket item getting smuggled now.”

“Huh. Maybe I should get into smuggling? I can slip just about anywhere.” Mangetsu imagined his debut in such a profession out loud. His Hydrification would make sneaking around a snap.

“Where’s the appeal? I once heard someone baked five and a half million Ryo into rolls to try hiding it from a checkpoint in Moji. For some drug magnate or whatever. Then when an inspector bit into one because he was hungry— bwahaha! Busted. Stupid assholes.” Toyosaburo’s large shoulders bounced with each laugh.

Suigetsu peeked his eyes open in response to the raucous, more alert. He’d been napping.

“Got some strength?” Mangetsu asked him quietly, “We should be okay now.”

Suigetsu nodded and stretched out his limbs.

The homeowner stood up and handed the bag of clothing to Mangetsu, “Here. For Sui. How far is it to _your roof_?”

“Two or three days, optimistically. Thanks.” He slid Suigetsu’s dried coat off the chair and began to zip his brother up.

“Going already?” Toyosaburo eyed him in surprise, as if he’d gotten comfortable with the unexpected visit.

Violet eyes leveled on the owner of the house, “With all due respect, I don’t trust you enough to lay down my head here if you’re offering.”

“You could stay if you like, or go. Haven’t seen a soul in two months.” Toyosaburo lifted his broom and led the way out of the dormer, “I can give you some rice and pickles for your journey. I don’t have much to part with, but Heaven will still notice when I give.”

Suigetsu teetered a few steps behind his brother as they ventured into the interior of the stranger’s house. He’d been talking to Mangetsu. If only from a socially uninitiated viewpoint, Suigetsu could assess there was no danger here. Even though they had done wrong, remarkably, they’d gone unpunished. A first for a boy who’d been trained by his father’s fist.

The hearth area had cushions for sitting, ample dust, a corner wood stack to stoke the embers, and lit ceiling lamps over a pyramid of pots and bowls. Toyosaburo scrounged around the clutter, wrapping up a small bamboo container in cloth. His frantic motions looked suspicious to Suigetsu. To Mangetsu, he looked like a listless father troubled by nomadic children. As if they’d shaken his heart awake after it’d gone to sleep. He piled other odds and ends, knotted the cloth on the countertop, wearily glancing at Mangetsu who was an observer of the odd shuffle.

“Maybe a vaccine will keep you. The two of you, if you can get your hands on some. Stay warm, and don’t feel bad if you decide to come back here…” The man advised. He bent to rummage under cabinet, where a spare bottle of oil was kept. 

Toyosaburo turned again to offer it to them, but the wrapped provisions and youngsters were gone.

They were well across the snowy yard by then, daylight waning. Suigetsu clung to his brother’s back and sniffed the aromatic bundle, tempted to wolf down pickles.

“Let’s—”

“We can’t eat now. We’ve got to cover ground.” Mangetsu overrode the childish suggestion before it was spoken.

Suigetsu slapped his brother’s shoulder with a flimsy mitten, “When are we gonna _eat?_ I’ll die ‘cuz now it _hurts_ to be hungry, and cold, and all you do is _tell me to wait!_ ” He tightened the drawstrings of his hood in agitation, “He was going to give us more stuff! We could’ve stayed there! You made us leave.”

“If we stayed we’d only bring him trouble. He’s not strong enough to help himself. Not like we are.”

“We’re not strong enough either.” The boy groused.

“We are.”

“We’re _not._ ”

“You have to tell yourself you are.” Mangetsu insisted, “Then you _will be._ ”

The land was smoothed waves of white, anointed with copper roughage and stone. Suigetsu stewed on his brother’s philosophy in the most lugubrious of childhood moods, silent, watching sparse trees and bracken race by. His brother was an ocean current. So quick that they might do a full lap the world like this before long. He wanted to protest and doubt, cry, but Mangetsu made it hard for him to do so. What he knew and said became true in Suigetsu’s heart so unexplainably. 

And then, Mangetsu skidded to a stop in surprise, sighting something over the deserted heath. He dashed south, hoping to reach the shelter of a tall hill before being spotted…but the far-off occupant of the waste had seen him too. Suigetsu breathed a mouthful of frozen air, ill at ease over the random encounter, “Who’s that? Who’s chasing us?”

“Ninja.” He was upon the foot of the hill in moments, dumping Suigetsu to the ground, “Remember what I said. Got it? Remember what you can do.” Hackles raised, Mangetsu tried to flatten his small counterpart into gravel.

Like a balking fawn, Suigetsu watched with wide eyes as his brother’s posture changed, backtracking over the crunching, frozen grassland, and came face-to-face with a shinobi twice his age and width. Then there were two more, and he suppressed a _pip_ of alarm as Mangetsu initiated some kind of verbal arbitration with the strangers, the content of which Suigetsu could not hear distinctly. Tempers flared as the conversation ebbed. Silence, wind, and consideration. Over the distant prairie, a hart bellowed for a hind in a cry that carried for miles. 

It was too swift of a dance for Suigetsu’s eyes to follow as the hostile gathering scurried west and beyond his sightline along the knoll. He hugged the rations to his chest. His eyes watered. Mangetsu had dropped the knapsack of clothing beside him, and Suigetsu slung the strap over his shoulder while crawling over slush. His heartbeat accelerated and warmed him, small limbs restless. 

The boy peeked his eyes over the nettle of an indigo bush, watching as projectiles struck Mangetsu’s head and splashed through him, ineffective. His brother summoned a sword from a scroll, swung true, and a whiplash of parchment erupted in an explosion. One of the antagonizing shinobi fell back blackened. The third instigator retreated over the heath to call for reinforcements that were languishing in a ditch. They’d wanted to negotiate for food provisions which, understandably, Mangetsu was unwilling to part with. The last rebel lingering in the area loped toward Suigetsu, sighting him over the bush, “—got rations? Gimme that bag, kid.” Reaching his gangly arm, he pounded on the child with a merciless fist. 

Suigetsu puddled under the impact, taking the attacker aback for a moment. All that was left was to hook the bundle of food containers with his fingers and dart away, thusly concluding the confrontation. But the man swayed idly on his feet. Reforming, Suigetsu squinted up at the looming figure with abating horror as a bullet of water shot through the man’s head from back to front, the squirt of blood beeline, and then he fell front ways into the indigo bush. Mangetsu reappeared in a bound with his weapons stowed, scooping his brother and belongings up again. 

Toted on his guardian’s back, Suigetsu watched Mangetsu’s heaving breaths vaporize in the cold air as he ran. The questions buzzed in the child’s mind like a scrolling ticker board, though he didn’t ask them aloud. How many more were there? Would they follow? Why could he still hear shouting over the hills, as if the mangy rebels continued to fight? Suigetsu looked back and could see a pair of official Mist Village ninja wielding swords drop from a snowy ledge, scaring the insurgents like a scattering of pigeons. The attackers had been attacked. 

Served them right.

In full retreat, the sounds faded from Suigetsu’s ears. Ahead lay the genesis of a deep forest at the southernmost edge of the moorland. It kept a few more promises than the lands behind them did.

* * *

Maintaining the illusion of a functional marriage around peers was Kuina’s newest enterprise. She’d lodged in a vacant patient recovery room the night previous after pretending to end her shift and go home. Avoiding the loft and its inhabitants for even a brief stint was paramount. So many headaches awaited her there, and she needed to secure time to let her brain recalibrate. After Guo, So-Eun, Ikue, and other staff had rotated their shifts and left, Kuina had snuck into the empty bed downstairs, darkened the lights, and slept. 

She rose a bit late the next morning. Kuina shrugged on her satchel and took the side exit of the building, surprised by the slightly elevated temperatures outside. A lack of wind made the cold a bit more tolerable. Her lollygagging in the village prolonged her slow commute home. _‘Kamisori may or may not be back from his mission today.’_ Her stomach curdled at the thought, _‘I could stay here and talk to Sashayma…well, no, she has to work. I wish I still had my apartment here…’_ She never should have given it up.

 _‘I need to clean up and make some food. I haven’t been eating right.’_ Another concern on the docket that required attention, _‘It’d be weird for me to stop by any of my friends’ places uninvited to have a meal. If I explain what’s been going on…we’d all be worse off.’_ Were she to vent to anyone and initiate a security crisis, there’d be no way to quell it, _‘And now Zabuza and Haku have been staying at our house...’_ Which was its own kettle of fish, though less of a burden than her marital strife was.

The doleful slump home took half an hour longer than usual, her stomach constricted with hunger, hair bedraggled; imaginary tail dragging in mud behind her the whole way. Snow had melted off the redwood branches as she bounded between them. Slipping through the thick of the woods, Kuina wondered if holding still would allow her to stop existing altogether. If through the cessation of action and living, she might undo all of this worldly dross? Hitch her breath. Shut her eyes. Drop. Maybe that was the ticket out…

Not that her father would be impressed by this mode of escapism, nor her superiors, mentors, friends, or few bright-faced patients who thanked her in passing. If she couldn’t handle these personal matters skewered by the thorns coiling inside, perhaps she’d learn how to live outside of herself? Hover above the hellstew and feel nothing, if it meant feeling good things would forever be off the table. Kuina decided to think more on the subject after breakfast. She carried on.

Upon arriving at the loft’s wrap-around porch, Kuina paused to peer down into the yard below, intrigued by Haku’s mirroring of Zabuza’s Eagle Claw locks, performed in miniature. She sunk into a low seated squat, cupped her chin, and watched. Something about this arrangement, though it was objectively inconvenient to take them in, soothed her. Whatever it was radiating from them and motivating them…it was genuine. Kuina never thought she’d see the day when she could give Momochi Zabuza more credit than her own husband, but golly the day might’ve arrived.

The young swordsman commanded a profound knowledge of the human body and its weaknesses; how to exploit them or mitigate them. Her trained eyes honed in on the lessons. How Haku’s willowy limbs conducted the movements, inexperienced but accurate, with no physical power backing his featherbed strikes. Not yet, anyway. Zabuza corrected him often with no escalation in temper. He was an attentive teacher who employed fact over flattery. Kuina smiled to herself. He was going to do right by this child. Why he’d decided to do so was anyone’s guess, but clearly that was what Zabuza had set out to do.

She dabbed at her runny nose with her sleeve, spectating the last of Haku’s steps and soft strikes _paffing_ harmlessly off of Zabuza as the boy’s energy waned. Kuina then waved down at them to get their attention, “Hey, Haku! Come up here.”

The child looked once to Zabuza, who gave no objection, and then Haku made the wobbly ascent up to the porch. Kuina drew him in and wiped a smudge of dirt from his cheek.

His congeniality was perpetual, “Good morning, Kuina-san.”

“Morning! You’ve been working hard, I see. Let’s go inside so I can give you a check-up, alright?” She stood to lead him indoors, and Zabuza arrived a beat later to drift in like a shadow. He watched as they settled on cushions at a low table, Kuina rummaging through her bag for a flashlight to check eyesight, test reflexes, blood pressure, muscle growth, oral health, hearing, and so on. Haku happily complied with each request. Kuina scribbled additional notes in the file Guo had given her.

“I am much better than I was.” Haku made the assessment on his own.

“You are. Strong and healthy. You should brush your teeth more.”

“Okay.”

“No pain anywhere or trouble going to the bathroom?”

“No.”

“Good. Have you two eaten?” She looked between her guests, “I’ll make some eggs.”

Zabuza’s narrow stare followed Kuina through the dining area to the kitchen, “You’re not going to ask if he came back yet?”

Her reply was short, “Obviously, he didn’t.” Kamisori was not her preferred topic.

“He’s overdue. I need to talk to him.”

“You’ll just have to wait.” Kuina followed up with, “Tea?”

“Coffee, if you have it.”

Haku made a face at the suggestion of the beverage. He could nearly taste the bitterness on his tongue. At the table, he fiddled around with the folder, intrigued that his full name, the alleged _Yuki_ surname and all was printed on it.  He had not been searching for this piece of himself, but it fit snugly in the puzzle of his life, as though he had no reason to question it. Zabuza also seemed mildly interested in the file. Kuina chirped for Haku’s assistance, handing off a pot of steeping tea for him to set on the table. Coffee would need a while more to percolate. He did as asked, returning to his seat to watch tea leaves stain the water through the clear glass of the pot.

In a hushed voice, Zabuza commended his protégée on his improvements, noting that his footwork was still not fast enough and would be reviewed later.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for what you lack. Just work on it.”

“I will, Zabuza-san.” Haku tilted his nose up in the air to catch a whiff of frying eggs and steaming rice, “Am I supposed to eat more today?”

“Eat as much as you can, every day. More protein. You ate all the fruit they had here already, so I guess we’ll need more of those.” Zabuza ticked off the list while counting ceiling beams, “Why the heck is the milk always gone here? You need more of that too.”

“I do.” Haku tapped his fingertip along the trail of hair on Zabuza’s forearm. Then, he tapped it along the naked porcelain skin of his own arm, equating.

When Kuina called Haku back to retrieve rice bowls with eggs and vegetables, he merrily delivered the meal to the table. She also passed him a mug of coffee which he transported with less enthusiasm, holding his breath so he wouldn’t gag at the aroma. Zabuza accepted it without thanks. When the three peaceable companions sat down and had a few mouthfuls of breakfast, the _chucka-chucka-chucka_ cries of the ptarmigan outside seemed ordinary.

That was until Higashikuni swatted the door open and ducked his head below the frame, hauling plastic supermarket bags in one hand, and Kamisori tucked in the crook of his other arm. 

Goggling, Zabuza and Kuina made no comments as the giant lumbered inside, “Ah, I guess someone’s home. Did some shopping while I was in the village. He-eeeeey Kuina, how’ve ya been? No need to pay me back, this is on me— here, though.” He dropped Kamisori on the floor, limp as a sack of potatoes, “I was gonna bring him to the hospital for his injuries post-mission, you know, once we gave our report…but he kept whining that he wanted you to treat him.”

“Is he…alive?” She had to swallow yolky rice before it flew out of her mouth. Kuina stumbled to her feet and ignored the grocery bags offered by her hulk of a sensei. She rolled Kamisori over on the hardwood, eyeing the numerous bruises and lacerations on his face and chest, clothing shredded, parts of him hideously bloodied. He was not conscious or having an easy time breathing unassisted, but this may have seemed acceptable to Higashikuni.

“Sensei, you _should’ve_ brought him to the hospital!” Kuina didn’t want the buck to land with her since, well, she didn’t like this injured person in front of her very much. Jokichi was on call during the day and he could’ve handled it.

“You weren’t there and he said—”

“ _Who cares_ what Kamisori said?” She tossed her hands up, about ready to sit and continue breakfast. At the table, Zabuza and Haku were deer in the headlights. Higashikuni clucked his tongue at his student’s hostility as he shut the door, moving toward the kitchen to put food stuffs away. 

“Get him…out of here.” Kuina tried propping up the ragdoll on the floor.

“I came here to see you and catch up; find out how you’ve been doing. I’m not gonna be some errand boy running between here and the village to dump ‘em when he’s not wanted.” Higashikuni protested, “Can’t you just patch him and stick him somewhere? Then come talk to me. It’s been ages.”

“There’s always unnecessary hassle when you show up…” Kuina gritted her teeth and finally decided to lug her spouse out of the room before he messed up the nice floor. As she toiled down the hall with Kamisori, Higashikuni finished his tasks and joined the table with a convenience store junk-food bowl. He leaned in to scrutinize the tiny boy in attendance.

“Who’s this? The help? A woodland fairy? A lovechild?” He peeled back plastic packaging to stir his meal up with chopsticks, “Oh, Zabuza, is this what you meant?” Higashikuni recalled his last conversation with him on the subject of children, “Congratulations on your young one!”

* * *

Between the genkan and the bathroom, Kamisori had sort of come to. Kuina shifted a portion of his weight on his stutter-stepping feet, crutching him into the washroom and sealing the door. She didn’t bother trying to balance him on a bathing stool. She just deposited him to the tile floor. A soft wheeze of pain sounded behind Kuina as she dug disinfectant and medical supplies out of a cabinet. She vacillated between spikes of truculence and gentler concern, hardly middling anywhere between those extremes.

“What happened to you?” She had to ask because context was deficient.

Kamisori worked up the strength to speak, “On our mission,” By that, Kuina took it to mean Higashikuni was his assignment partner, “We tracked a rebel cell. I captured one of those shinobi for the Mizukage to interrogate…he resisted.”

“Holy…” Kuina assessed his injuries again with that detail in mind, kneeling down to run the washing tap for hot water, “He must have put up an awful fight.”

His tattered tunic was pulled off, weapon holsters and other clothing removed down to undershorts. Most of the blood had clotted well before she set to wiping down gashes and stab wounds, and they did not seem to bother Kamisori nearly as much as the purpling region on his left side. When Kuina patted the spot to assess damage, his scream rattled her ear drums. Changing tactics, she handed him the cloth to clean himself while she gingerly approached a broken rib that may as well have been outside of his body. His lungs and other organs were in no danger, by her judgement, but the fractures would drive even a Zen master stir-crazy.

Had he wrestled with an animal? Clearly that target had not wanted to be caught. Higashikuni’s visit in comparatively pristine health tipped Kuina off to the fact that, maybe, he’d not helped Kamisori as much as he could have. Or, Kamisori had intentionally gone after a more difficult mark. He was not one to carelessly get injured— he was just looking for attention. Of course he was.

Could there be a more obvious way to prey on her penchant for healing and bridge the rift? Kuina cotton-swabbed his cuts roughly with antiseptic, relishing his hisses. His eyes were shut, back braced by the flat side of the tub. If he was going to get what he wanted, she wasn’t going to make it pleasant for him. Kamisori winced and yelped, muttering about the mission and what he and Higashikuni had accomplished. The recap fell on deaf ears as Kuina worked. She didn’t care. Healing light beneath her palms sealed holes in flesh, worked bone into bone again until, eventually, he could sit up properly without hollering. He went quiet when he realized she wasn’t listening. 

Insignificant injuries not worth her chakra were wrapped in gauze, and Kamisori was mended well enough to let a few nights of sleep handle the rest. She tied tight bindings around his chest, warning him, “It may take a few more weeks for this rib to fully set. So don’t even sneeze too hard, or it’ll disturb the fractures.” The broken blood vessels webbing out from his right eye orbital were unsightly. She pressed her fingers there to heal the bruise, then tended to a cut on his lip. Kamisori’s gaze was glossy and lost, shamelessly stuck to her, making it difficult to deny eye contact.

How many times had he been hurt this badly? She wanted to ask. Probably when he was younger, under Kushimaru-sensei’s tutelage, he was hurt in different, more severe ways. At least now, Kamisori probably thought her a great convenience. Kuina could repair whatever ailed his mind or body. And though she pitied his past suffering, that pity did not outweigh the despair. She’d fix what she could. The fact remained that when it came time for _her_ to be bludgeoned to the brink of death, she’d bleed alone. He was incapable of restoring her in any way. Maybe when she first met him she was already aware of that, but at the time it hadn’t felt like too much of a price to pay.

Kuina’s thoughts took a turn for the practical, debating whether or not to send him an invoice later for services rendered. Passive-aggressive capitalism at its finest.

But he pressed a kiss to the cup on her hand before she could draw away. Kamisori reached to touch her face with an expression so gentle that she just might’ve mistaken it for love.

“Sori, don’t.”

Those blue eyes scoured her, communicating that he understood. He understood that she didn’t want to and he knew why. He kissed her anyway. It was a soft kiss that delivered an apology that she still didn’t want. And yet she kissed him back for an ephemeral taste of what had once been delicious and good, now dissolved into thousandth-parts in an ocean. Kuina pushed him off.

“I’m sorry.” Kamisori didn’t mean that he regretted the kiss. He regretted everything that came before it.

Kuina helped him to his feet, taking care to not step in any blood slicks on the floor. They hobbled towards and slid the door aside, where she then emancipated him at the bedroom across the way. She did not sleep there anymore.

“Kuina…”

“You can move enough to get dressed.” She delivered him to his quarters, an act which drained the last drops of courtesy from her reservoir of patience, “Go and rest now. I’ll handle the quacks in our dining room.”

Kamisori’s hand closed around her upper arm as she moved to exit, “Kuina, I know I haven’t done things the right way.” He tried to profess the inexpressible, for it weighed on him so, “But please…believe me when I say that I need you. I won’t have anyone else.”

The pendulum of her mood swung back to bellicose. Whether or not he was being sincere was immaterial. Everything was still fresh, zinging inside her. If there were a map to forgiveness, she wasn’t yet ready to unroll it to take a look. Was it so hard for him to accept that? 

“Good. Go back to the Yuki estate and tell your trophy wife that. I’m sure she’d love to hear about me.” Kuina wrenched his hand off and crossed the corridor again. She sealed the door to go about cleaning the bloody bathroom.

He stared mutely, taking several seconds to adjust to the emotional glacier parting him from his wife. Kamisori slowly trudged to the bedroom closet to find another tunic and pants, then dressed clumsily. He sank back-first to the bed and let thoughts boil in his mind.

If baring his belly like a submissive dog and apologies weren’t going to do it, and if injury only evoked a minimal sympathetic response from Kuina, how far was he willing to take it? He knew they both wanted to make amends, but did that mean tonight? Tomorrow? Next year? Kamisori was no fan of suspense. The omissions she’d taken to heart were things he had put behind him long ago. The clash of perspectives didn’t make it any easier.

And if this animosity persisted, Kuina’s friends would notice over time. His vagrant swordsmen contemporaries already had, not that their opinions on this matter posed any risk. Should certain tongues wag, the Mizukage might hear of his collusion with the Yuki clan. He’d thought that parting ways was out of the question, and it largely was for strategic reasons, but if that was what Kuina needed he thought well enough about her to grant such a wish. 

Her hair had been oily and knotted, he noticed. She might not have come home from her hospital shift right away. There’d been no taste of another man on her mouth, nor incriminating scents. Kuina wasn’t looking elsewhere for companionship, which calmed him somewhat. When he sighed, the expansion of his diaphragm tweaked a rib. Kamisori held still and waited for it to pass. He ought to have asked for something to dull the pain, but he’d fallen asleep feeling worse than this. Kamisori dozed as the morning trickled into afternoon.

By then, Kuina had cleaned up and bathed, made herself presentable, and rejoined her Sensei in the living area who, for some reason, was still eating most of what he’d brought over. Three farm-fulls of food could fit in the man, most likely. 

Haku had cleared dishes from the table, which tickled her with gratitude. Higashikuni and Zabuza had spent that time commiserating about post-Seven Swordsmen life. Kuina skirted around their notice and conversation. She gathered her bag and peered inside it to find the packaged blood tests she’d pilfered from the lab. She set them down on the table, intent on coming back to them later. Then Kuina interrupted the men, “Are you going to be staying here for a while, Sensei?”

Higashikuni was merry, “Just for a bit. Gotta get back to Toshiko and Chōjūrō today.”

She took a seat and helped herself to a pear, one of many now sitting in the once-empty fruit bowl, “Why did you let Kamisori get roughed up like that?”

This was a line of inquiry that interested Zabuza as well, so he leveled his attention on Higashikuni— still munching his convenience store snacks.

“He’s fi-iiine.”

“ _Now_ he is.” Kuina’s clipped reply.

He tried to employ an adage, “What doesn’t kill ya—”

“Can eventually kill you anyway. Remember Seungri and Weno?” Kuina name-dropped her long dead teammates, “Don’t be so hands off about everyone’s welfare. You might be tougher than most, but _we_ aren’t.”

“Come on, Kuina. Kamisori wanted to arrest that Boil Release grub since he’d be more valuable to the Mizukage, and I didn’t disagree. Meanwhile, _I_ handled a posse of half a dozen rebel dickheads, thank-you-very-much. Hands off, _pff_ …I had my hands full!” Higashikuni shook his head at _her_ disappointed head-shaking, which escalated into more disagreeing shakes aimed at one another. She tried not to smile. Higashikuni was trouble, but she still liked her teacher very much. 

The chatter turned cordial, and Kuina thanked him for the contribution of groceries. She came and went from the house to collect firewood, feed Debumaru, then indoors again to prepare vegetables and dishes for later in the day. She overheard snippets of Zabuza’s conversation with Higashikuni.

“You saw him?”

“I said _I thought_ I spotted Mangetsu out in the countryside, but I was busy at the time. So I’m not one-hundred-percent certain.” Higashikuni emphasized the fraction of uncertainty, “Anyways, I’m pretty sure that Shon is alive too. With those two out and about, Kyonjin might see ‘em as free radicals if they aren’t sworn in as loyalists. They’re not rebels either, but that won’t help the Mizukage relax.”

“Why does he need to know?” As far as Zabuza was concerned, stray swordsmen were an asset that did not need to appear on Hidden Mist’s accounting sheet.

“Because treason.” Higashikuni said simply.

“They’re not a threat.”

“Sure they are. Once they make up their minds on what they wanna do, it’s probably not good news for our current Kage.” The giant asserted, “Why do you think the Suikazan clan’s drama is such a big deal? Think Kyonjin wants to see Fuguki or Samebito unhinged? Dissent? If they go nuts, what do you think their pointy-toothed kids and clansmen are gonna do?” Higashikuni grinned, “Kisame’s not good at thinking for himself. Once he sees something is broken, he’ll throw everything else away.”

Zabuza did not agree, “It’s not gonna sway him. He’ll ride it out.”

“He’ll fold.” 

“If he does, he’ll come here.” Assuming that Kisame tired of Kirigakure’s histrionics, Zabuza supposed he would come to the loft for a break. He was no longer an apprentice after claiming Samehada for himself. As a fully-realized master of that sword, Kisame might search out the company of his colleagues. 

“Why are you so sure? He might go away never to be seen again…or the mercenary life might suit him. Hidden Mist has produced many a talented nukenin in its time.” Higashikuni challenged the idea.

Zabuza sniffed, “Whatever.”

Higashikuni rolled a clementine playfully across the table at Haku, who had no stake in the conversation. Amused, the child rolled it back. To and fro, to and fro.

At the kitchen counter, Kuina’s ears were perked as she minced green onions and squares of _nori._

“Well, if we find Shon or Mangetsu somewhere, it’s in their best interest if they fess up to Kirigakure. Better to kiss the Mizukage’s ass and spit later than to forever be on the run.” Higashikuni wagered, “The way I see it, Kyonjin will implode if given enough time. No outside force really has to act on him. There’ll be a new candidate chosen.”

“Not soon enough. In the meantime, he’ll keep dismantling every institution that makes our village livable. Do you think a new Mizukage is going to restore what’s _fucked?_ Not make it _worse?_ ” Zabuza shared his take, “Each successor is more of the same.”

“If a rebel Mist ninja became Mizukage, do you think we’d be any better off?” The huge man was genuinely curious.

“Depends on who it is.”

“Couldn’t the same be said of a loyal Mist ninja? Depends on who’s—”

“Are _you_ loyal?” Zabuza snapped.

“Eh. Moderately. Loyal enough to my paycheck.” The truth in brief. 

Higashikuni went on, “Someone like Toyotomi Hayago might be good. If he’s too vanilla, they might vote for The Rainbow Ninja.” He laughed, “Not like she’d ever go for it. The Hunter Corps is her life. Needs to be out in the fresh air to survive…”

“Yeah…the fucking Rainbow Ninja’ll save us.” Muttering, Zabuza caught the clementine as it rolled across the table, but then propelled it on towards Haku. The path took on a triangle among the table’s three occupants.

“What’s a rainbow ninja?” Haku asked.

“Toyotomi Bisumusu.” Higashikuni did not explain further.

“Oh.” Haku rolled the fruit again.

Zabuza’s clarification wasn’t much better, “It’s a title. A dumb one. Seven-colored chakra isn’t real.”

“Seven colors in a rainbow.” Haku understood that much.

“Yep.” Said Higashikuni, “They’d never vote for me, but that’d be fun. Ikeda Harusame ain’t nothin’ to write home about, but he could handle the job. And if your grandma doesn’t croak, she might be a good candidate, Zabuza.”

Both Haku and Kuina’s faces lit up in fantastical shock at the assertion.

Once passed back to Zabuza, the clementine was squashed under his hand. Eyes far off and unseeing, heat lurked under Zabuza’s steeled features, “Not her.”

Higashikuni beamed upon seeing he’d provoked the young man, “No? Sealing Commissioners are a big deal. The daimyo might consider it.”

“She’s a louse.”

“Tch, tch! Who talks about their grandma like that?” Higashikuni scolded, making a face at Haku since they were both grinning kids at heart.

“Zabuza-san, can we meet your granny—?”

“No. She’s certifiable. Wants me to rot in hell.” He shut the idea down.

Higashikuni leaned over the table to whisper, “Hey Haku, ‘ol buddy, if you wanna meet Momochi Honesuki, _the legend,_ I might be able to get you a visitor’s pass to the Sealing Corps bureau once you make Genin. How about it?”

“He’s **not** going to be a Genin **OR** grovel to the _motherfucking_ Sealing Corps that issues visitor’s passes _to the peasant folk._ ”

From the kitchen, Zabuza’s small eruption was the most emotive Kuina had ever seen him. Not that she’d say so, but she too got the elitist vibe after her visit to the Sealing Corps building.

“Not be a Genin?” Higashikuni raised an eyebrow at Zabuza, “Isn’t he registered in Hidden Mist?”

“No. That’s why we’re out here.”

“So you free-train him and then what? How does he make a living? Find a niche? A home?” Higashikuni presented the counterpoint, “If he wants those things, he’d have to secure them as an outsider. That’s fucked up— to force that on him.”

“If he’s free, Haku can do or have whatever he wants.”

“I dunno about that. The Yuki clan won’t take a lowborn like him in. And no one will marry him when he’s grown. He’ll just be a legionnaire for drug cartels or insurgents.”

“He’ll be a swordsman.” Zabuza corrected, “And once Hidden Mist pulls its head out of its ass, he can do anything. He can do whatever he wants _without_ the Mizukage or the Yuki clan turning their noses up at him. I’ll get him there.”

Surprised, Higashikuni shared a slack-jawed moment with Kuina before turning to Zabuza, who appeared resolute in following through on his proclamation. Haku was mild and not caught up in the turbulence of the moment quite so much. He’d started to eat a pear from the fruit bowl.

“So, uh…that’s pretty bold.” Higashikuni granted, “I guess you don’t want me talking about you training an illegal protégée?”

“Give it a shot. If you can’t keep your mouth shut, I’ll make you incapable of speech.”

“Alright, there’s no need to be insolent. I’m your elder, remember. Besides, I wouldn’t want to mess up your mentorship of Haku.” His beard crinkled in a smile, “Never would have thought you were up for it.”

The passionate discourse had woken the loft’s owner from his recovery nap before long. Kamisori tottered into the space, bandages glimpsing from beneath a navy tunic. He stopped momentarily beside the table, still standing as he asked, “Do I have to feed all of you?”

“Ate already, thanks. I’ve got to be going now anyway.” Higashikuni unfolded his giraffe legs to stand like a tower, “Kamisori, take it easy. We can pair up for another mission soon.” He glanced over at Zabuza again, “And don’t let _this one’s_ scheming make a circus for us all. I like when he plots, but he just doesn’t see every angle.” He held up a hand when Zabuza tried to cut in with a retort, “Kuina.”

She was hefting a new bag of rice out of a cupboard, “Sensei?”

“Don’t mind all of that gossip, alright?”

“I’m used to it. Won’t say a word.”

“Yeah, I know you get it. I’d like to visit again when I have free time. I’ll bring some goodies with me, if Toshiko’s willing to make ‘em…” He crushed his feet into boots at the genkan, adding in Haku’s direction, “Heya, Haku: you stick with it. You can meet Chōjūrō, sometime. He’s just a tadpole now, but I bet you’d like him.”

“The next time you come back, Higashikuni-san. Please bring him?” Haku was bright-eyed.

“Nah, he’s still too small for me to take him out this far.” He saluted the gaggle as he ducked through the door, “So long, ya chicken livers.” 

With Higashikuni’s departure and a snap of cold air from the closed front entry, Kamisori was willed to keep moving. By some automatic mechanism, he took up complimentary cooking tasks, careful to maintain a meter’s distance from Kuina. He could feel her electricity warding him off in an unseen, spherical field. Rather than ask how he was doing or convey concern, Zabuza talked _at_ Kamisori from his seat at the table.

“Higa said that Mangetsu was out on the wastes.”

“Was he? I was too preoccupied to spot him.” Kamisori replied airily. He set a pot of water on a burner to boil mashed soybeans.

After Haku handed him a cloth napkin, Zabuza wiped crushed clementine from his hands. He went on, “Who’d you capture?”

“Terumi Jirsa. A young dissident. He may yet be persuaded to serve the Mizukage or share intel.” Kamisori suspected Kuina was listening keenly while her face was turned away, “We’ll see.”

“Not a bad fighter, eh?”

“Not bad at all. To his credit, he was run down from travel and hunger.” Kamisori vouched for the youngster’s mettle, “But this is my season.” Winter supplied Ice Release users with an advantage few others could boast.

“Think he’ll squeal about rebel locations?”

“I think he might.”

Zabuza went silent after that. Haku gathered up fruit pulp and peels from the table, moved to the kitchen, and nearly tossed it in the trash. Kuina stopped him and redirected him to her sealed compost box. She’d move organic refuse outside later. Privately, she was reeling over the fact that these conversations had carried a noticeable pro-Rebel and anti-Mizukage tone. Calling the present conspirators out on their treachery could imperil her to some degree, or warrant her guilt by association later if the Intel Corps ever seized them. Of that she was reasonably sure. 

So she saved her reprimands. Kuina was starting to get good at keeping receipts, and these men seemed to think she was incapable of such a thing. Dopes.

Haku’s wandering about the kitchen ended when he took up scooping rice alongside Kamisori. The man watched the child from the corner of his eye, patting rice balls into form, nesting them in _nori_. Haku was better at it than he was. He handed off finished _onigiri_ to Kamisori, who placed them on a tray. Eventually, Haku hopped up to sit on the counter (since he was a length too short to reach) and took over the task completely. Kamisori quietly thanked him, then went about pouring boiled _namago_ into filtercloth, squeezing _okara_ liquid out of it over a pot. He accidentally made eye contact with Kuina while doing so. 

She came over to him, whispering, “Why are you making tofu? You can go back to sleep.”

“I want to help you.”

“I don’t want you to help me.”

Though hushed, their voices still carried in the soundless house. Zabuza and Haku gave no indication that they cared about the uncomfortable spousal exchange.

Kuina added, “Haku will help me cook. He likes to.”

“I slept enough.”

“You can barely breathe and you’re taking up space.” Kuina checked her temper, “Get some rest. When you’re feeling better I’ll conduct a blood test…to see if there’s any relation.” She gestured her head towards the child making perfect rice balls.

Amazed that she was still willing to help determine Haku’s ancestry, Kamisori did not protest further. He procured a wooden mold for tofu from a cabinet before retiring to his room again. Kuina scooped the _namago_ into the mold before setting it aside, accepting Haku’s tray of _onigiri_ with a pleased smile.

While Kamisori slept the rest of the day away, Zabuza resumed training with Haku outdoors. They joined Kuina later for homemade _sukiyaki_ which nearly earned a compliment from Zabuza, but he was not in the habit of praising anyone. Haku might be the exception to that, Kuina thought to herself as she sipped broth.

After dinner, Kuina tidied up and then went to bed. Baths were taken, lamps lit, and Haku settled in an armchair near the window to read a book not suitable for his young age, yet he’d already embarked on the epic. Every now and again, he asked Zabuza to define a challenging word. 

By proper night, Kamisori had woken again. He hobbled through the house to seal it up, and added wood to the fire in the hearth.

“What’s the deal?” Zabuza’s question broke the silence, “She looks like she wants to rip your head off.”

Kamisori glanced over to the sofa where Zabuza was sprawled, damp from a bath and dressed down for sleep. He frowned at the man, “Why do you want to know?”

“Because you two keep making it goddamn weird.” Zabuza informed him, “And Haku asks a lot.”

They both looked across the way to where the heedless child could not hear their conversation; his mind was journeying in a faraway land.

“When I…first met Kuina and got to know her…” The words burned his throat as Kamisori spoke, “I decided to marry her to create a believable excuse for my long absence from the Yuki clan. They’d have expected me back by now, and I have no intention of returning in spite of my…support of them.” He settled cross-legged near the fire, “I really do love her. Though…since she found out about my initial intentions…Kuina doesn’t believe that I’m committed to her.” 

That about summed up the plight. Snaps of burning wood punctuated the silence of the room. After a long while Zabuza gave his assessment of the matter, “What a fucking idiot you are.”

“I’ve said that to myself quite a few times.” Kamisori concurred.

“Seriously? If it’s a cover, don’t get so involved. If it’s too good to be a cover, then fuck the authorities who suspect you. Ya twit.” Even Zabuza couldn’t approve of the harebrained plan, “Big mistake pissing off the Chief Medic who’s _always_ reporting to the Mizukage. Higa said _I_ don’t see consequences, but looks like _you_ need spectacles to see straight.”

 “She and I at least have an understanding that she won’t divulge any… _precarious_ details. Reporting on sensitive matters could backfire on her, with the way Kyonjin reacts. Kuina is no fool, nor do I wish to jeopardize her.” He tried to paint the picture into something rosier, “Though we may have not accounted for some things…we want the same general outcome. We’ll negotiate on how we get there.”

“Yeah. Get there straight through the newest prison block.”

“We know well enough to avoid that abyss.”

“ _Why_ ,” Zabuza growled, “—do you think you know her so well? She’s got big ears. She’s listening. It’s not lost on the Chief that we want to flip an administration _she_ might want to defend.”

“I don’t think she values it that much. Kuina can see room for improvement.”

“Doesn’t mean she’ll accept the mode by which we improve it.”

“That—”

“By banning together and rooting it out.”

“Zabuza, she wasn’t given a choice in this. She’s no proponent of swordsmen, and her livelihood depends on many things the Mizukage directs. And I never promised that I—”

“You _did_.” A heavy hammer of a rebuttal.

“If _my_ participation in a coup runs counter to her—”

“Your shitty planning and lack of priorities aren’t going to get in the way of _what we have to do._ ” Zabuza warned him, “We assemble. We prepare. She’s not going to stop that, not for all the bitching in the world.”

“Don’t _lecture me_ on priorities, you homeless leech.” Kamisori turned around, ignoring his screaming rib, and bared his teeth, wide-eyed like furious raptor, “I would gladly serve Kuina before your cause. Your _inspired_ rebellion and its execution is not _the only_ way to change things in Kirigakure. Options are not as limited as your pea-brain supposes.”

Leaning forward to confront a burgeoning, useless storm of testosterone, Zabuza jeered softly, “Want me to open up your head so I can find out how big your brain is, smart guy?”

This was no time to wage war. Also, Haku had stopped reading and was watching the conversation as though a dog-fight was in its betting stage, contestants staring each other down and snarling. Zabuza turned to the child, commanding shortly, “Haku, go to bed.”

He bounced out of the armchair, “Yes, Zabuza-san.” Scurrying out of the living area, Haku retreated with his book down the corridor to the guest room.

“Need I remind you that it was _you_ who came here seeking shelter? Don’t tire me with threats.” Kamisori rose to his feet to settle at the far end of the sectional.

“Sure. Turn me out if you have to, and you said that you’d keep Haku— _that’s not happening_.” Zabuza squared his arms on the backrest, “She has **a file** on him. She’ll turn Haku over to Mist to be registered.”

“Kuina won’t do that. She knows that’s not what is best for him.”

“There’s contrary evidence.”

“It’s a health file, not a surveillance write-up.”

“Blood tests too—”

“How dense are you?” Kamisori braced his forehead against his pointer finger, as if the headache might break free and infect the world, “Zabuza. She wants to confirm how we’re related. My sister has been missing for over a decade.” He gestured to the back of the house vaguely, “How did a child with the Hyoton miraculously appear? In some main-island hamlet _far_ from where the Yuki clan conspires and fucks on a barrier cay?”

“…a sister.” Zabuza repeated the word skeptically.

“Okimo left while I was in training to inherit Nuibari. After Lord Jinsong took the word of a degenerate over my sister’s.” He shared the bitter tidbit, “Since Kuina is aware of that as well, she agreed to run a test.”

“So, like a nephew?”

“Possibly. Whether or not that’s the case, we’d never let any harm come to him.” Kamisori assured him, “My question is, will you? What will your plans cost Haku?”

 “Not much.”

“Don’t lie.” Kamisori cautioned him, “Jūzō never pampered you. And Kushimaru delighted in my needless suffering, even when I did everything right. Neither of them would have batted an eyelash if we’d died in their care.”

“They were sick bastards. We’re not like them.”

“We’re not?”

“I won’t ever _allow_ him to be tortured, defiled, or put in a situation where it’s a wall, him, and death. Not even when Haku’s grown and knows his shit.” Zabuza insisted.

“Not as you were made to go through those things, at that age. Not even if that pain would teach him something?”

“There are _better ways_ to teach those concepts. A mind like his can conceptualize abstracts, so I’m not going to throw Haku to the wolves and say that’s how it’s done.”

“Forgive my cynicism. It’s still a surprise to see you dedicated to another living being. Much less commit to shielding him from harm.”

“Plenty of harm will be done to him anyway, while he lives in this fucking country.” Zabuza forecasted, “I’ve got no reason to make it worse.”

“If that’s a promise,” Kamisori rose from the sofa, “See to it that you keep it, until your dying breath.”

Even though Zabuza did not verbally endorse the agenda, the oath was manifest in every particle of him. As much as he could irritate Kamisori, the man had to admit that Zabuza’s conviction about things could, at times, instill a healthy dose of confidence. Kamisori hobbled away to go back to sleep, telling Zabuza, “Shut those lamps off.”

The house darkened and went still shortly after that.

The moon rose and crept along the curve of the sky’s starry brow, shying down to the horizon as it lightened with dawn.


End file.
